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FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD

MRS. A. D. T. WHITNEY,

AUTHOR OP "HITHERTO," "THE GAYWORTHYST7''7' PATIENCE STRONG'S OUTINGS"

ETC., ETC.

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY C. G. BUSH.

T< do my duty in that state of life to which it shall please God to call me.'

BOSTON:
HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY.

Htoerstte Press,

1882.

Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1868, by

A. K. LORING,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts.

PREFACE.

I BEGAN this story for young girls. It has grown, as they
grow, to womanhood. It makes no artistic pretension. It is
a simple record of something of the thought and life that lies
between fourteen and twenty.

I dedicate it, as it is, to these young girls, who dream, and
wish, and strive, and err; and find, perhaps, little help to in
terpret their own spirits to themselves. I believe and hope
that there is nothing in it which shall hinder them in what is
noblest and truest.

May there be something that shall lift them — though by

ever so little — up !

A. D. T. W-

CONTENTS.

CBAPTBB • PAaB

I. "MONET, MONEY!" 7

II. SOETES 12

III. AUNT HENDERSON 17

IV. GLpRY MCWHIRK 2J

V. SOMETHING HAPPENS . . 35

VI. AUNT HENDERSON'S GIRL-HUNT 55

VII. CARES; AND WHAT CAME OF THEM fig

VIII. A NICHE IN LIFE, AND A WOMAN TO FILL IT 71

IX. LIFE OR DEATH? 78

X. ROUGH ENDS - 82

XI. CROSS CORNERS , . 90

XII. A RECONNOISSANCE - ... 100

XIII. DEVELOPMENT 110

XIV. A DRIVE WITH THE DOCTOK « 118

XV. NEW DUTIES 131

XVI. " BLESSED BE YE, POOR " 138

XVII. FROST-WONDERS 152

XVIII OUT IN THE SNOW ino

XIX. A " LEADING " 174

1*

6 CONTENTS.

CHAPTER PAoa

XX. PAUL 183

XXI. PRESSURE . . < 194

XXII. ROGER AEMSTEOKO'S STORY 204

XXIII. QUESTION AND ANSWER 211

XXIV. CONFLICT 229

XXV. A GAME AT CHESS 2.°,8

XXVI. LAKESIDE 245

XXVII. AT THE MILLS 253

XXVIII. LOCKED IN 258

XXIX. HOME 272

XXX. AUNT HENDERSON'S MYSTERY 280

XXXI. NURSE SAMPSON'S WAY OF LOOKING AT IT 291

XXXII. GLORY MCWIIIRK'S INSPIRATION 300

XXXIII. LAST HOURS 308

XXXIV. MRS. PARLEY GIMP 314

XXXV. INDIAN SUMMER 320

XXXVI. CHRISTMAS-TIDE 328

XXXVII. THE WEDDING JOURNEY 3i3

FAITH GARTNEFS GIRLHOOD.

CHAPTER I.
"MONEY, MONEY!"

" Shoe the horse and shoe the mare,
And let the little colt go bare."

EAST or West, it matters not where, — the story may,
doubtless, indicate something of latitude and longitude as
it proceeds, — in the city of Mishaumok, lived Henderson
Gartney, Esq., one of those American gentlemen of whom,
if she were ever canonized, Martha of Bethany must be the
patron saint, — if again, feminine celestials, sainthood once
achieved through the weary experience of earth, don't know
better than to assume such charge of wayward man, —
born, as they are, seemingly, to the life-destiny of being
ever " careful and troubled about many things."

"We have all of us, as little girls, read "Rosamond."
.Now, one of Rosamond's early worries suggests a key tc
half the worries, early and late, of grown men and women.
The silver paper won't cover the basket.

Mr. Gartney had spent his years, from twenty-five to
forty, in sedulously tugging at tne corners. He had had
his share of silver paper, too, — only the basket was a little
too big.

8 FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD.

In a pleasant apartment, half library, half parlor, and
osed in the winter months as a breakfast room, beside a
table still covered with the remnants of the morning meal,
sat Mra Gartney and her young daughter, Faith ; the latter
with a somewhat disconcerted, not to say rueful, expression
of face.

.A pair of slippers on the hearth and the morning paper
thrown down beside an arm-chair, gave hint of the recent
presence of the master of the house.

" Then I suppose I can't go," remarked the young lady.

" I 'm sure I don't know," answered the elder, in a help
less, worried sort of tone. "It don't seem really right to
ask your father for the money. I did just speak of your
wanting some things for a party, but I suppose he has for-
gotten it ; and, to-day, I hate to trouble him with reminding.
Must you really have new gloves and slippers, both ? "

Faith held up her little foot for answer, shod with a partly-
worn bronze kid, reduced to morning service.

" These are the best I 've got. And my gloves have been
cleaned over and over, till you said yourself, last time, they
would hardly do to wear- again. If it were eny use, I should
say I must have a new dress ; but I thought at least I
should fresheii up with the ' little fixings,' and perhaps have
something left for a few natural flowers for my hair."

" I know. But your father looked annoyed when I told
him we should want fresh marketing to-day. He is really
pinched, just now, for ready money, — and he is so discour
aged about the times. He told me only last night of a man
who owed him five hundred dollars, and came to say he
did n't know as he coul3 pay a cent. It don't seem to be
a time to afford gloves and shoes and flowers. And then
there '11 be the carriage, too."

FAITH GARTNET'S GIRLHOOD. 9

" Oh dear!" sighed Faith, in the tone of one who felt
herself checkmated. " I wish I knew what we really could
afford ! It always seems to be these little things that don't
cost much, and that other girls, whose fathers are not nearly
so well off, always have, without thinking anything about
it" And she glanced over the table, whereon shone a silver
coffee-service, and up at the mantel where stood a French
clock that had been placed there a month before.

" Pull at the bobbin and the latch will fly up." An un
spoken suggestion, of drift akin to this, flitted through the
mind of Faith. She wondered if her father knew that this
was a Signal Street invitation.

M r. Gartney was ambitious for his children, and solicitous
for their place in society.

But Faith had a touch of high-mindedness about her that
made it impossible for her to pull bobbins.

So, when her father presently, with hat and coat on, came
into the room again for a moment, before going out for the
day, she sat quite silent, with her foot upon the fender, look
ing into the fire.

Something in her face howev-er, quite unconsciously,
bespoke that the world did not lie entirely straight before
her, and this catching her father's eye, brought up to him,
by an untraceable association, the half proffered request of
his wife.

" So you haven't any shoes, Faithie. Is that it?"

" None nice enough for a party, father."

" And the party is a vital necessity, I suppose. AVhere
is it to be ? "

The latch-string was put forth, and while Faith still stayed
her hand, her mother, absolved from selfish end, was fain to
tatch it up.

10 FAITH GARTNEY 'S GIRLHOOD.

"At the Kushleighs'. The Old Year out and the New
Year in."

" Oh, well, we mustn't ' let the colt go bare,' " answered
Mr. Gartney, pleasantly, portmonnaie in hand. " But you
must make that do." He handed her five dollars. " Aiid
take good care of your things when you have got them, for
I don't pick up many five dollars now-a-days."

And the old look of care crept up, replacing the kindly
smile, as he turned and left the room.

" I feel very much as if I had picked my father's pocket,"
said Faith, holding the bank-note, half ashamedly, in her
hand.

Henderson Gartney, Esquire, was a man of no method in
his expenditure. When money chanced to be plenty with
him it was very apt to go as might happen — for French
clocks, or whatsoever ; and then, suddenly, the silver paper
fell short elsewhere, and lo ! a corner was left uncovered.

The horse and the mare were shod. Great expenses were
incurred ; money was found, somehow, for grand outlays ;
but the comfort of buying, with a readiness, the-- little
needed matters of every day, — this was foregone. "Not
let the colt go bare ! " It was precisely the thing he was
continually doing.

Mrs. Gartney had long found it to be her only wise way
to make her hay while the sun was shining, — to buy, when
she could buy, what she was sure would be most wanted,—
and to look forward as far as possible, in her provisions,
since her husband scarcely seemed to look forward at all.

So she exemplified, over and over again in her life, the
story of Pharaoh and his fat and lean kine.

That night, Faith, her little purchases and arrangements
all complete, and flowers and carriage bespoken for the next

FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD. 11

evening, went to bed to dream such dreams as only come to
the sleep of early years.

At the same time, lingering by the fireside below for a
half hour's unreserved conversation, Mr. Gartney was tell
ing his wife of another money disappointment

" Blacklow, at Cross Corners, gives up the lease of the
house in the spring. He writes me he is going out to Indi
ana with his son-in-law. I don't know where I shall find
another such tenant, — or any at all, for that matter."

CHAPTER n.

SOKTES.

" How shall I know if I do choose the right ? '

" Since this fortune falls to you,
Be content, and seek no new."

MERCHANT OF

" Now, Mahala Harris," said Faith, as she glanced in at
the nursery door, which opened from her room, " don't let
Hendie get up a French Revolution here while I 'm gone to
dinner."

" Land sakes ! Miss Faith ! I don't know what you mean,
nor whether I can help it. I dare say he 'd get up a Revo
lution of 76, over again, if hu once set out He does train
like 'lection, fact, sometimes."

" "Well, don't let him build barricades with all the chaiis,
so that I shall have to demolish my way back again. I 'm
going to lay out my dress for to-night."

And very little dinner could her young appetite manage
on this last day of the year. All her vital energy was busy
ia her anticipative brain, and glancing thence in sparkles
from her eyes, and quivering down in swift currents to hei
restless little feet. It mattered little that there was deli
cious roast beef smoking on the table, and Christmas-
pies were arrayed upon the sideboard, while up stairs the
bright ribbon and tiny, shining, old-farhioned buckles were

FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD. 13

waiting to be shaped into rosettes for the new slippers, aud
the lace hung, half basted, from the neck of the simple but
delicate silk dress, and those lovely green-house flowera
stood in a glass dish on her dressing-table, to be sorted for
her hair, and into a graceful breast-knot. No, — dinner was
a very secondary and contemptible affair, compared with
these.

Ah, if people could only hold out to live, all the rest of
their days, on perfume and beauty and grace and dreamy
delights, — that seem, in the charmed vision of youth, the
essential verities of life, — how the worry and care of break
fasts and dinners and butchers' and grocers' bills and the
trouble of servants should be gloriously done away with !
To-night, Faith's eyes shine, and her cheek glows with the
mere joy of life and loveliness ; but, to-morrow, she will be
hungry like any other mortal ; and there must be chickens,
or beefsteak, or oven coarser mutton or pork, to feed the very
roses ttat flush and crown her girlish beauty. We don't
live straight from the spirit impulse yet !

There were few forms or faces, truly, that were pleasanter
to look upon in the group that stood, disrobed of their care
ful outer wrappings, in Mrs. Eushlcigh's dressing-room ;
their hurried chat and gladsome greetings distracted with
the drawing on of gloves and the last adjustment of shining
locks, while the bewildering music was floating up from be
low, mingled with the hum of voices from the rooms where,
as children say, " the party had begun " already.

And Mrs. llushleigh, when Faith paid her timid respects
iu the drawing-room at last, made her welcome with a pecu
liar grace and empressement that had their own flattering
weight and charm ; for the lady was a sort of St. Peter of
fashion, holding its mystic keys, and admitting or rejecting

2

14 FAITH GARTNET'S GIRLHOOD.

whom she would ; and culled, with marvellous tact and taste,
the flower of the upgrowing world of Mishaumok to adorn
" bir set."

After which, Faith, claimed at once by an eager aspirant,
and beset with many a following introductioa and petition,
was drawn to and kept in the joyous whirlpool of the dance,
till she had breathed in enough of delight and excitement
to carry her quite beyond the thought even of ices and oys
ters and jellies and fruits, and the score of unnamable
luxuries whereto the young revellers were duly summoned
at half past ten o'clock.

Four days' anticipation, — four hours' realization, — cul
minated in the glorious after-supper midnight dance, when,
marshalled hither and thither by the ingenious orders of the
band, the jubilant company found itself, just on the impend
ing stroke of twelve, drawn out around the room in one great
circle ; and suddenly a hush of the music, at the very poising
instant of time, left them motionless for a moment to burst
out again in the age-honored and heart-wanning strains
of " Auld Lang Syne." Hand joining hand they sang its
chorus, and when the last note had lingeringly died away,
one after another gently broke from their places, and the
momentary figure melted out with the dying of the Year,
never again to be just so combined. It was gone, as van
ishes also every other phase and grouping in the kaleido
scope of Time.

" Now is the very ' witching hour' to try the Sortes! "

Margaret Eushleigh said this, standing on the threshold
of a little inner apartment that opened from the long draw
ing-room, at one end ; and speaking to those nearest her in
the scattered groups that had hardly ceased bandying back
\nd forth their tumultuous " Happy New Years."

GAXTNEY'S GIRLHOOD. 15

She held in her hand a large and beautiful volume, — a
gift of Christmas day.

" Here are Fates for everybody who cares to find them
out ! "

The book was a collection of poetical quotations, arranged
by numbers, and to be chosen thereby, and the chance appli
cation taken as an oracle.

Everything like fortune-telling, or a possible peering into
the things of coming time, has such a charm ! Especially
with them to whom the past is but a prelude and beginning,
and for whom the great, voluminous Future holds enwrap
ped the whole mystic Story of Life !

" No, no, this won't do ! " cried the young lady, as circle
behind circle closed and crowded eagerly about her. " Fate
don't give out her revelations in such wholesale fashion.
You must come up with proper reverence, one by one."

As she spoke, she withdrew a little within the curtained
archway, and, placing the crimson-covered book of destiny
upon an inlaid table, brought forward a piano-stool, and
seated herself thereon, as a priestess upon a tripod.

A little shyly, one after another, gaining knowledge of
what was going on, the company strayed in from without,
and, each in turn hazarding a number, received in answer
the rhyme or stanza indicated ; and who shall say how long
those chance-directed words, chosen for the most part with
the elastic ambiguity of all oracles of any established au
thority, lirgered echoing in the heads and hearts of them
to whom tbey were given, — shaping and confirming, or
darkening with their denial raapv an after hope and fear?

One only, of them all, h?3 a« interest for us that needs <»
record.

Faith Grartnty came up anong the very Isst

16 FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD.

"How many numbers are thereto choose from?" she
asked,

" Three hundred and sixty-five. The number of days in
the year."

" Well, then, I '11 take the number of the day ; the last,
— no, I forgot, — the first of all."

Nobody before had chosen this, and Margaret read, in a
clear, gentle voice, not untouched with the grave beauty of
its own words, and the sweet, earnest, listening look of the
young face that bent toward her to take them in, —

•' Bouse to some high and holy work of love,

And thou an angel's happiness shalt know ;
Shalt bless the earth while iii the world above ;
The good begun by thee while here below
Shall like a river run, and broader flow."

Ten minutes later, and all else were absorbed in other
things again, — leave-takings, parting chat, and a few waltz
ing a last measure to a specially-accorded grace of music.
Faith stood, thoughtfully, by the table where the book was
closed and left. She quietly reopened it at that first page
Unconscious of a step behind her, her eyes ran over the lines
again, to make their beautiful words her own.

" And that was your oracle, then '? " asked a kindly voice.

Glancing quickly up, while the timid color flushed her
cheek, she met a look as of a wise and watchful angel,
though it came through the .eye and smile of a gray-haired
man, who laid his hand upon the page as he said, —

" Remember, — it is conditional"

CHAPTER III.

ATTNT HENDERSON.

u I never met a manner more entirely without frill."

SYDNEY SMI-IS.

LATE into the morning of the New Year, Faith slept.
Through her half consciousness crept, at last, a feeling of
music that had been wandering in faint echoes among the
chambers of her brain all those hours of her suspended
life, and were the first sensations to stir there, when that
mysterious Life flashed back along its channels, and brought
a light more subtle than the mere sunshine that through the
easterly windows was flooding all her room with its silent
arousal.

Light, and music, and a sense of an unexamined, half-
remembered joy, filled her being and embraced her at her
waking on this New Year's Day. A moment she lay in a
passive, unthinking delight ; and then her first, full, and
distinct thought shaped itself, as from a sweet and solemn
memory, —

" Rouse to some high and holy work of love,
And thou an angel's happiness shall know."

An impulse of lofty feeling held her in its ecstasy; a
uoble longing and determination shaped itself, though
2*

18 FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD.

vaguely, within her. For a little, she was touched in her
deepest and truest nature ; she was uplifted to the threshold
of a great resolve. But generalities are so grand, — details
so commonplace and unsatisfying. What should she do?
What " high and holy work " lay waiting for her?

And, breaking in upon her reverie, — bringing her down
with its rough and common call to common duty. — th«.
second bell for breakfast rang.

"Oh, dear! It is no use! Who'll know what great
things 1 've been wishing and planning, when I 've nothing
to show for it but just being late to breakfast? And fathei
hates it so, — and New fear's morning, too ! "

Hurrying her toilet, she repaired, with all the haste
possible, to the breakfast-room, where her consciousness
of shortcoming was in nowise lessened when she saw who
occupied the seat at her fathers right hand, — Acnt Hen
derson !

Aunt Faith Henderson, who had reached her nephew's
house last evening just after the young Faith, her name
sake, had gone joyously off to " dance the Old Year out
and the New Year in." Old-fashioned Aunt Faith, — who
believed most devoutly that " early to bed and early to
rise" was the only way to be " healthy, wealthy, or wise !"
Aunt Faith, who had never quite forgiven our young heroine
for having said, at the discreet and positive age of nine,
that " she did n't see what her father and mother had called
her such an ugly name for. It was a real old-maid's name ! "
Whereupon, having asked the child what she would have
preferred as a substitute, and being answered, " Well, —
Clotilda, I guess; or Cleopatra." — Mi3S Henderson had
told her that she was quite welcome to change it for any
heathen woman's that she pleased, and t-he worse behaved

FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD. 19

perhaps the better. She would n't be so likely to do it any
discredit !

Aunt Henderson had a downright and rather extreme
fashion of putting things ; nevertheless, in her heart she
was not unkindly.

So when Faithie, with her fair, fresh face, — a little
apprehensive troulle in it for her tardiness, — came in,
there was a gn.m l/euding of the old lady's brows; but,
below, a half-belying twinkle in the eye, that, long as it
had looked out sharply and keenly on the things and people
of this mixed-up world, found yet a pleasure in anything
so young and bright.

"Why, auntie! How do you do?" cried Faith, cun
ning culprit that she was, taking the " bull by the horns,"
and holding out her hand. " I wish you a Happy New
Year ! Good morning, father, and mother ! A Happy New
Year! I 'm sorry I 'm so late."

" Wish you a great many," responded the great-aunt, in
stereotyped phrase. " It seems to me, though, you 've lost
the beginning of this one."

"Oh, no!" replied Faithie, gayly. "I had that at the
party. We danced the New Year in."

" Humph ! " said Aunt Henderson.

Breakfast over, and Mr. Gartney gone to his counting-
room, the parlor-girl made her appearance with her mop
and tub of hot water, to wash up the silver and china.

" Give me that," said Aunt Henderson, taking a large
towel from the girl's arm as she set down her tub upon the
Bideboard. " You go and find something else to do."

Wherever she might be, — to be sure, her round of visit-
vng was not a large one, — Aunt Henderson never let any
one else wash up breakfast-cups.

20 FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD.

This quiet arming of herself, with mop and towel, stir
red up everybody else to duty. Her niece-in-law laughed,
withdrew her feet from the comfortable fender, and depart
ed to the kitchen to give her household orders for the day.
Faith removed cups, glasses, forks, and spoons from the
table to the sideboard, while the maid, returning with a
traj, carried off to the lower regions the larger dishes, and
the remnants of the meal.

" I have n't told you yet, Elizabeth, what I came to
town for," said Aunt Faith, when Mrs. Gartney came
back into the breakfast- room. " I 'm going to hunt, up a
girl."

" A girl, aunt ! Why, what has become of Prudence? "

" Mrs. Pelatiah Trowe. That 's what 's become of her.
More fool she."

" But why in the world do you come to the city for a
servant? It's the worst possible place. Nineteen out of
twenty are utterly good for nothing."

" I 'm going to look out for the twentieth."

" But are n't there girls enough in Kinnicutt who would
be glad to step into Prue's place ? "^

' ' Of course there are. Plenty. But they 're all well enough
off where they are. When I have a chance to give away, I
want to give it to somebody that needs it."

" I 'm afraid you '11 hardly find any efficient girl who
will appreciate the chance of going twenty miles into the
country."

" I don't want an efficient girl. I 'm efficient myself, and
that 's enough."

"Going to train another, at your time of life, aunt?"
asked Mrs. Gartney, in surprise.'

" I suppose 1 must either train a girl, or let her train

FAITH GARTNET'S GIRLHOOD. 21

me ; and, at my time of life, I don't feel to stand in need
of that"

"How shall I go to work to inquire?" resumed Aunt
Henderson, after a pause.

" Well, there are the Homes, and the Offices, and the
Ministers at Large. At a Home, they would probably rec
ommend you somebody they've made up their minds to
put out to service, and she might or might not be such an
one as would suit you. Then at the Offices, you '11 see all
sorts, and mostly poor ones."

"I'll try an Office, first," interrupted Miss Henderson.
" I want to see all sorts. Faith, you '11 go with me, by-and-
by, won't you, and help me find the way .? "

Faith, seated at a little writing- table at the farther end
of the room, busied in Copying into her album, in a clear,
neat, but rather stiff school-girl's hand, the oracle of the
night before, did not at once notice that she was addressed.

" Faith, child! don't you hear?"

" Oh, yes, aunt What is it? "

" I want you to go to a what-d'ye-call-it office with me,
to-day."

"An intelligence office," explained her mother. "Aunt
Faith wants to find a girl."

" ' Lucus a non hicendo,' " quoted Faith, rather wittily,
from her little stock of Latin. " Stupidity offices, /should
call them, from the specimens they send out."

"Hold your tongue, chit! Don't talk Latin to me!"
growled Aunt Henderson.

"What are you writing?" she asked, shortly after, when
Mrs. Gartney had again left her and Faith to each other.
•• Letters, or Latin ? "

Faith colored, and laughed.

22 FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD.

" Only a fortune that was told me last night," she replied.

•' Oh ! 'A little husbaiid,' -I suppose, ' no bigger than
my thumb ; put him in a pint po.t, and there bid him drum.' "

" No," said Faith, half seriously, and half teased out of
her seriousness. "It's nothing of that sort. At least,"
she added, glancing over the lines again, " I don't think it
means anything like that."

And Faith laid down the book, and went up stairs for a
word with her mother.

Aunt Henderson, who had been brought up in times when
all the doings of young girls were strictly supervised, and
who had no high-flown scruples, because she had no mean
motives, deliberately walked over and fetched the elegant
little volume from the table, reseated herself in her arm
chair, — felt for her glasses, and set them carefully upon
her nose, — and, as her grand-niece returned, was just finish
ing her perusal of the freshly-inscribed lines.

" Humph ! A good fortune. Only you 've got to earn
it."

" Yes," said Faith, quite gravely. " And I don't see
how. There don't seem to be much that I can do."

" Just take hold of the first thing that comes in your
way. If the Lord 's got anything bigger to give you, he '11
see to it. There 's your mother's mending-basket brimful
of stockings."

Faith couldn't help laughing. Presently she grew grave
again.

" Aunt Henderson," said she, abruptly, " I wish some
thing would happen to me. I get tired of living sometimes.
Things don't seem worth while."

Aunt Henderson bent her head slightly, and opened her
eyes wide over the tops of her glasses.

FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD. 23

" Don't say that again," said she. " Things happen fast
enough. Don't you dare to tempt Providence."

" Providence won't be tempted, nor misunderstand," re
plied Faith, an undertone of reverence qualifying her girlish
repartee. " He knows just what I mean."

" She's a queer child." said Aunt, Faith to herself, aftei-
wards, thinking over the oriel conversation. " She '11 be
something or nothing, I always said. I used to think 't would
b*> nothing."

CHAPTER JV.

GLORY MCWHIRK.

There 's beauty waiting to be born,
And harmony that makes no sound ;

And bear we ever, unawares,
A glory that hath not been crowned.

SHALL I try to give you a glimpse of quite another
young life than Faith G-artney's? One looking also vaguely,
wonderingly, for " something to happen," — that indefinite
" something " which lies in everybody's future, which may
never arrive, and yet which any hour may bring ?

Very little likelihood there has ever seemed for any
great joy to get into such a life as this has been, that began,
or at least has its earliest memory and association, in the
old poor-house at Stonebury.

A child she was, of five years, when she was taken in there
with her old, crippled grandmother.

Peter McWhirk was picked up dead, from the gravelled
drive of a gentleman's place, where he had been trimming
the high trees that shaded it An unsound limb — a heed
less movement — and Peter went straight down, thirty feet,
and out of life. Out of life, where he had a trim, comfort
able young wife, — one happy little child, for whom skies
were as blue, and grass as green, and buttercups as golden
as for the little heiress of Elm Hill, who was riding over

FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD. 25

•

the lawn in her basket-wagon, when Petec met his death
there, — the hope, also, of another that was to come.

Rosa McWhirk and her baby of a day old were buried
Ihc week after, together ; and then there was nothing left
for Olory and her helpless grandmother but the poor-house
as a present refuge ; and to the one death, that ends all.
and to the other a life of rough and unremitting work to
look to for by-and-by.

When Glory came into this world where wants begin with
the first breath, and go on thickening around us, and press
ing upon us until the last one is supplied to us — a grave
— shs wanted, first of all, -a name.

" Sure what '11 I call the baby?" said the proud young
mother to the ladies from the white corner house, where
she had served four faithful years of her maidenhood, and
who came down at once with comforts and congratulations.
" They 've sint for the praist, an' I 've niver bethought of a
name. I made so certain 't would be a boy ! "

" What a funny bit of a thing it is ! " cried the younger
of the two visitors, turning back the bed-clothes a little from
the tiny, red, puckered face, with short, sandy-colored hair
standing up about the temples like a fuzz-ball.

" I 'd call her Glory. There 's a halo round her head like
the saints in the pictures."

" Sure, that's jist like yersilf, Miss Mattie ! " exclaimed
Rosa, with a faint, merry little laugh. " An' quare enough.
[ knew a lady once't of the very name, in the ouldcountiy.
Miss Gloriana O'Dowd she was ; an' the beauty o' County
Kerry. My Lady Kinawley, she came to be. 'Deed, but
I 'd like to do it, for the ould times, an' for you thinkin' of
it ! I '11 ask Peter, anyhow ! "

And so Glory got her name ; and Mattie Hyde, who gave

26 FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD.

•

her that, gave her many another thing that was no less a
giving to the mother also, before she was two years old
Then Mrs. Hyde and the young lady, having first let the
corner house, went away to Europe to stay for years ; and
when a box of tokens from the far, foreign lands came back
to Stonebury awhile after, there was a grand shawl for
Rosa, and a pretty braided frock for the baby, and a rosary
that Glory keeps to this hour, that had been blessed by the
Pope. That was the last. Mattie and her mother sailed
out upon the Mediterranean one day from the bright coast
of France for a far eastern port, to see the Holy Land.
God's Holy Land they did see, though they never touched
those Syrian shores, or climbed the hills about Jerusalem.

Glory remembered, — for the most part dimly, for some
special points distinctly, — her child-life of three years in
Stonebury poor-house. How her grandmother and an old
countrywoman from the same county " at home " sat knit
ting and crooning together in a sunny corner of the common
room in winter, or out under the stoop in summer ; how she
rolled down the green bank behind the house ; and, when
she grew big enough to be trusted with a knife, was sent out
to dig dandelions in the spring, and how an older girl went
with her round the village, and sold them from house to
house. How, at last, her old grandmother died, and was
buried ; and how a woman of the village, who had used to
buy her dandelions, found a place for her with a relative
of her own, in the ten-mile distant city, who took Glory to
"bring up," — "seeing," as she said, "there was nobody
belonging to her to interfere."

"Was there a day, after that, that did not leave its searing
impress upon heart and memory, of the life that was given,
in its every young pulse and breath, to sordid toil for others,

FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD. 27

and to which it seemed nobody on earth owed aught of care
or service in return ?

Clothed and fed, to be sure, she was ; that is, she neither
starved, nor went naked ; but she was barely covered and
nourished as she must be, — as any beast of burden must
be, — to do its owner's work.

It was a close little house, — one of those houses where
they have fried dinners so often that the smell never get?
out, — in Budd Street, — a street of a single side, wedged
in between the back yards of more pretentious mansions that
stood on fair parallel avenues sloping down from a hill-toy
to the water-side, that Mrs. Grabbling lived.

Here Glory McWhirk, from eight years old to nearly
fifteen, scoured knives and brasses, tended door-bell set ta
bles, washed dishes, and minded the baby ; whom, at her
peril, she must "keep pacified," — i. e., amused and content,
while its mother was otherwise busy. For her, poor child,
— baby that she still, almost, was herself, — who amused,
or contented her ? There are humans with whom amusement
and content have nothing to do. What will you ? The
world must go on.

Glory curled the baby's hair, and made him "look pret
ty." Mrs. Grubbling cut her little handmaid's short to sav»
trouble ; so that the very determined yellow locks which:
under more favoring circumstances of place and fortune,
might have been trained into lovely golden curls like the
child's who lived in the tall house opposite the Grubblings'
door, and who came, sometimes, to the long back-parlor
windows, and unconsciously shone into poor, unknown
Glory's life, who watched for her as for a vision, — these
locks, I say, stood up continually in their restless reaching
after the fairer destiny that had been mean* for them, in

28 FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD.

the old fuzz-ball fashion ; and Glory grew more and more to
justify her name.

Do you think she did n't know what beauty was, — this
child who never had a new or pretty garment, but who wore
frocks " fadged up " out of old, faded breadths of her mis
tress's dresses, and bonnets with brims cut off and top
knots taken down, and coarse shoes, and stockings cut out
of the legs of those whereof Mrs. Grubbling had worn out
the extremities? Do you think she didn't feel the differ
ence, and that it was n't this that made her shuffle along
so with her toes in, when she sped along the streets upon
her manifold errands, and met gentle-people's children
laughing and dancing and skipping their hoops upon the
sidewalks ?

I tell you the soul shapes to itself a life, whether the
outer life conform to it or not. What else is imagination
given for?

Did you ever think how strange it is that among the
millions of human experiences, — out of all the numberless
combinations of circumstance and incident that make the
different lives of men and women, — now unfolding their
shifting webs upon this earth, you yourself, and that without
voluntary choice, have just one, perhaps but a very dull and
meagre one, allotted you ? With all the divine capacity you
find in yourself to enter into and comprehend a life quite
other than and foreign to the daily reality of your own, and
to feel how it would be to you if it might become tangible
and actual, did you ever question why it is that you are
kept out of it, and of all else save the one small and insuf
ficient history ? The very consciousness of such capacity
answers you why.

"No man lives to himself."

FAITH GARTNEF'S GIRLHOOD 29

Out of all lives, actual and possible, each one of ua
appropriates continually into his own. This is a world ol
hints only, out of which every soul seizes to itself what it
needs.

This girl, uncherished, repressed in every natural longing
to be and to have, took in all the more of what was possible ;
for God had given her this glorious insight, this imagina
tion, wherewith we fill up life's scanty outline, and grasp
at all that might be, or that elsewhere, is. In her, as in ua
all, it was often — nay, daily — a discontent ; yet a noble
discontent, and curbed with a grand, unconscious patience.
She scoured her knives ; she shuffled along the streets on
hasty errands ; she went up and down the house in her
small menial duties ; she put on f^nd off her coarse, repul
sive clothing ; she uttered herself in her common, ignorant
forms of speech ; she showed orly as a poor, low, little
Irish girl with red hair and staring, wondering eyes, and
awkward movements, and a frightened fashion of getting
into everybody's way ; and yet, behlcd all this, there was
another life that went on in a hidden beauty that you and
I cannot fathom, save only as God gives the like, inwardly,
to ourselves.

There are persons who have an " impfi^i'uent of speech,"
so that the thoughts that shape themselves in the brain are
smothered there, and can never be born in fitting utterance.
There are many who have an impediment of bte. A some
thing wanting — withheld — that hinders ihv inner exist
ence from flowering out into visible fact and de^d. Flowers
it not somewhere? Is there not building somewhere, all
the while, that which God hath reserved for them <nn> the
foundation of the world ?

"When Glory's mistress cut her b^ir, there were tlwave
" 3*

30 FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD.

tears and rebellion. It was her one, eager, passionate long-
ing, in those childish days, that these locks of hers should
be let to grow. She thought she could almost bear anything
else, if only this stiff, unseemly crop might lengthen out
into waves and ringlets that should toss in the wind like the
carefully kempt tresses of children she met in the streets.
She imagined it would be a complete and utter happiness
just once to feel it falling in its wealth about her shoulders
or dropping against her cheeks ; and to be able to look at it
with her eyes, and twist her fingers in it at the ends. And
so, when it got to be its longest, and began to make itself
troublesome about her forehead, and to peep below her
shabby bonnet in her neck, she had a brief season of won
derful enjoyment in it. Then she could " make believe " it
had really grown out; and the comfort she took in "going
through the motions," — pretending to tuck behind her ears
what scarcely touched their tips, and tossing her head con
tinually, to throw back imaginary masses of curls, was truly
indescribable, and such as I could not begin to make you
understand.

"Half-witted monkey!" Mrs. Grubbling would ejacu
late, contemptuously, seeing, with what she conceived mar
vellous penetration, the half of her little servant's thought,
aud so pronouncing from her own half-wit Then the great
fehears came out, and the instinct of grace and beauty in the
child was pitilessly outraged, and her soul mutilated, aa
it were, in every clip of the inexorable shears.

Glory lived half her life in that back parlor of the Pem-
bertons. The little golden-haired vision went and came ; it
•at by its mother's side in the firelight, before the curtains
were drawn down ; it had a party, now and then, of other
little radiances like unto itself: and Glory, " tending baby "

FAITH GARTNET'S GIRLHOOD. 31

in Mrs. Grubbling's fusty chamber, watched their games
through the long, large-paned windows, and reproduced
them next day, when the chores were done, and she and
baby could go up stairs and " have a party ; " bidding
thereto, on his solemn promise of good behavior, " Bubby,"
otherwise Master Herbert Clarence Grubbling ; ranging,
also, six chairs, to represent or to accommodate invisible
" company."

And, for me, I can't help thinking there may have been
company there.

She was always glad — poor Glory — when the spring
time came. The water running in the gutters ; the blades
of grass and tufts of chickweed that grew under the
walls ; the soft, damp air that betokened the mollifying
season, — these touched her with a delight, and gave her a
sense of joy and beauty that might have been no deeper or
keener if it had come to her through the ministries of great
rivers, and green meadows, and all the wide breeze and blue
of the circling sky.

She took Bubby and Baby down to the Common, of a
May-day, to see the processions and the paper-crowned
queens ; and stood there in her stained and drabbled dress,
with the big year-and-a-half-old baby in her arms, and so
quite at the mercy of Master Herbert Clarence, who defi
antly skipped off down the avenues, and almost out of' her
sight, — she looking after him in helpless dismay, lest he
should get a splash or a tumble, or be altogether lost;
and then what would the mistress say ? Standing there
BO, — the troops of children in their holiday trim passing
close beside her, — her young heart turned bitter for a mo
ment, as it sometimes would; and her one utterance of all
swelled her martyr-soul broke forth, —

32 FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD.

" Laws a me ! Sech lots of good times in the world, and
I 3-int in 'em ! "

And then she meekly turned off homeward, lugging the
baby in her arms, who peremptorily declined her enticing
suggestion when they passed the Common gates, that he
should get down, and "go patty, patty, on the sidewalk;"
Master Herbert, who had in the midst of his most recklesa
escapades kept one eye carefully upon her movements, racing
after her, vociferating that he would " go right and tell his
ma how Glory ran away from him "

Yet, that afternoon, when Mrs. Grubbling went out
shopping, and left her to her own devices with the chil
dren, how jubilantly she trained the battered chairs in
line, and put herself at the head, with Bubby's scarlet
tippet wreathed about her upstart locks, and made a May
Day!

I say, she had the soul and essence of the very life she
seemed to miss.

There were shabby children's books about the Grubbling
domicile, that had been the older child's — Cornelia's — and
had descended to Master Herbert, while yet his only pas
time in them was to scrawl them full of pencil-marks, and
tear them into tatters. These, one by one, Glory rescued,
and hid away, and fed upon, piecemeal, in secret. She could
read, at least, — this poor, denied unfortunate. Peter Mc-
Whirk had taught his child her letters in happy, humble
Sundays and holidays long ago ; and Mrs. Grubbling had
begun by sending her to a primary school for awhile,
irregularly, when she could be spared ; and when she had ii't
just torn her frock, or worn out her shoes, or it did n't rain,
CT she had n't been sent of an errand and come back too

FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD. 33

late, — which reasons, with a multitude of others, constantly
recurring, reduced the school-days in the year to a number
whose smallness Mrs. Grubbling would have indignantly
disputed, had it been calculated and set before her ; she
being one of those not uncommon persons who regard a duty
continually evaded as one continually performed, it being
necessarily just as much on their minds ; till, at last, Her
bert had a winter's ilrness, and in summer it was n't worth
while, and the winter after, baby came, so that of course
she could n't be spared at all ; and it seemed little likely
now that she ever again would be. But she kept her spell
ing-book, and read over and over what she knew, and groped
her way slowly into more, till she promoted herself from that
to "Mother Goose," — from "Mother Goose" to "Fables
for the Nursery," — and now, her ever fresh and unfailing
feast was the " Child's Own Book of Fairy Tales," and an odd
volume of the " Parents' Assistant." She picked out, slowly,
the gist of these, with a lame and uncertain interpretation.
She lived for weeks with Beauty and the Beast, — with
Cinderella, — with the good girl who worked for the witch,
and shook her feather-bed every morning ; till at last, given
leave to go home and see her mother, the gold and silver
shower came down about her, departing at the back-door.
Perhaps she should get her pay, sometime, and go home
and see her mother.

Meanwhile, she identified herself with — lost herself utterly
in — these imaginary lives. She was, for the time, Cinderella •,
she was Beauty ; she was above all, the Fair One with
Golden Locks; she was Simple Susan going to be May
Queen; she dwelt in the old Castle of Rossmorc, with the
Irish Orphana The little Grubbling house in Budd Street

34 FAITH GAkTNEY'S GIRLHOOD.

was peopled all through, in every corner, with her fancies.
Don't tell me she had nothing but her niggardly outside
living there.

And the wonder began to come up in her mind, as it did
in Faith Gartney's, whether and when " something might
happen " to her.

CHAPTER Y.

SOMETHING IIAPPBNB.

Athirst ! athirst ! The sandy soil

Bears no glad trace of leaf or tree ;
No grass-blade sixtieth to the heaven

Its little drop of ecstasy.

Yet other fields are spreading wide
Green bosoms to the bounteous sun ;

And palms and cedars shall sublime
Their rapture for thee, — waiting one !

" TAKE us down to see the apple-woman," said Master
Herbert, going out with Glory and the baby one day when
his school didn't keep, and Mrs. G-rubbling had a head
ache, and wanted to get them all off out of the way.

Bridget Foye sat at her apple-stand in the cheery morn
ing sunlight, red cheeks and russets ranged fair and tempt
ing before her, and a pile of roasted pea-nuts, and one of
delicate molasses-candy, such as nobody but she knew how
to make, at either end of the board.

Bridget Foye was the tidiest, kindliest, merriest apple-
woman in all Mishaumok. Everybody whose daily path
lay across that southeast corner of the Common, knew her
well, and had a smile, and perhaps a penny for her ; and
got a smile and a God-blcss-you, and, for the penny, a rosy
or a golden apple, or some of her crisp candy in return.

Glory and the baby, sitting down to rest OB one of the

36 FAITH GARTXEr'S GIRLHOOD.

benches close by, as their habit was, had one day made a
nearer acquaintance with blithe Bridget. I think it began
with Glory — who held the baby up to see the passing show
of a portion of a menagerie in the street, and heard two
girls, stopping just before her to look, likewise, say they 'd
go and see it perform next day, — uttering something
of her old soliloquy about " good times," and why she
" warn't ever in any of 'em." However it was, Mrs. Foye,
in her buxom cheerincss, was drawn to give some of it
forth to the uncouth-looking, companionless girl, and not
only began a chat with her, after the momentary stir in the
street was over, and she had settled herself upon her stool,
and leaning her back against a tree, set vigorously to work
again at knitting a stout blue yarn stocking, bat also
treated Bubby and Baby to some bits of her sweet mer
chandise, and told them about the bears and the monkeys
that had gone by, shut up in the gay, rcd-and-yellow-painted
wagons.

It was between her busy times of trade. The buzz of
bigger trade and toil had long ago begun " down town,"
and the last tardy straggler had passed by, on his way to
the day's labor of hand or brain. Children were all in
school. Here, in the midst of the great, bustling city, waa
a green hush and quiet ; and from this until noon Bridget
had but chance and scattering custom. Nursemaids and
babies did n't afford her much. Besides, they kept, for the
most part, to the upper walks. There are fashions among
nursemaids as among their betters.

Glory had no acquaintance among the smart damsels who
perambulated certain exclusive localities, in charge of ele
gant little carriages heaped up inside with laee, and feathers,
Mid embroideries, iu the midst of which peeped out with

FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD. 37

difficulty the wee human face which served as nucleus and
excuse for all the show.

So it became, after this first opening, Glory's chief pleas
ure to get out with the children now and then, of a sunny
day, and sit here on the bench by Bridget Foye, and heat
her talk, and tell her, confidentially, some of her small,
incessant troubles. It was one more life to draw from, — a
hearty, bright, and wholesome life, beside. She had, at
last, in this great, tumultuous, indifferent city, a friendship
and a resource of her own.

But there was a certain fair spot of delicate honor in
Glory's nature that would not let her bring Bubby and Baby
in any apparent hope of what they might get, gratuitously,
into their mouths. She laid it down, a rule, with Master
Herbert, that he was not to go to the apple-stand with her
unless he had first put by a penny for a purchase. And so
unflinchingly she adhered to this determination, that some
times weeks went by, — hard, weary weeks, without a bit
of pleasantness for her ; weeks of sore pining for a morsel
of heart-food, — before she was free of her own conscience
to go and take it.

Bridget told stories to Herbert, — strange, nonsensical
fables, to be sure, — stuff that many an overwise mother,
bringing up her children by hard rule and theory, might
have utterly forbidden as harmful trash, — yet that never
put an evil into his heart, nor crowded, I dare to say, a bet
ter thought out of his brain. Glory liked the stories as
well, almost, as the child. One moral always ran through
them all. Troubles always, somehow, came to an end;
good creatures and children got safe out of them all, and
lived happy ever after ; and the fierce, and cunning, and
bad, — the wolves, and foxes, and witches, — trapped

4

38 FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD.

themselves in their own wickednesses, and came to deplor
able ends.

" Tell us about the little red hen," said Herbert, paying
his money, and munching his candy.

" An' thin ye '11 trundle yer hoop out to the big tree, au'
lave Glory an' me our lane for a minute ?"

" Faith, an' I will that," said the boy, — aping, ambi *
tiously, the racy Irish accent

" Well, thin, there was once't upon a time, away off ID
the ould country, livin' all her lane in the woods, in a weo
bit ir a house be herself, a little rid hin. Nice an' quite
she was, and nivir did no kind o' harrum in her life. An'
there lived out over the hill, in a din o' the rocks, a crafty
ould felly iv a fox. An' this same ould villain iv a fox, he
laid awake o' nights, and he prowled round shly iv a day
time, thinkin' always so busy how he 'd git the little rid hin,
an' carry her home an' bile her up for his shupper. But the
wise little rid hin nivir went in til her bit iv a house, but
she locked the door afther her, an' pit the kay in her pocket
So the ould rashkill iv a fox, he watched, an' he prowled,
an' he laid awake nights, till he came all to skin an' bone,
on' sorra a ha'porth o' the little rid hin could he git at.
But at lasht there came a shcame intil his wicked ould head,
an' he tuk a big bag one niornin', over his shouldher, and
he says till his mother, says he, ' Mother, have the pot all
bilin' agin' I come home, for I '11 bring the little rid hin to
night for our shupper.' An' away he wint, over the hill,
an' came craping shly and soft through the woods to where
the little rid hin lived in her shnug bit iv a house. An'
enure, jist at the very minute that he got along, out comes
the little rid hin out iv the door, to pick up shticks to bile
her tay-kettle. ' Begorra, now, but I '11 have yees,' sajs the

FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD. 39

shly ould fox, and in he shlips, unbeknownst, intil the
house, an' hides behind the door. An' in conies the little
rid hin, a minute afther, with her apron full of shticks, an'
shuts to the door an' locks it, an' pits the kay in her pocket
An thin she turns round, — an' there shtands the baste iv
a fox in the corner. Well, thin, what did she do, but jist
dhrop down her shticks, and fly up in a great fright and
flutter to the big bame acrass inside o' the roof, where the
fox could n't get at her ?

"'Ah, ha!' says the ould fox, 'I'll soon bring yeea
down out o' that ! ' An' he began to whirrul round, an'
round, an' round, fashter an' fashter an' fashter, on the floor,
afther his big, bushy tail, till the little rid hin got so dizzy
wid lookin', that she jist tumbled down off the bame, and
the fox whipped her up and popped her intil his bag, and
shtarted off home in a minute. An' he wint up the wood,
an' down the wood, half the day long, with the little rid hin
shut up shmotherin' in the bag. Sorra a know she knowd
where, she was, at all, at all. She thought she was all biled
an' ate up, an1 finished, shure ! But, by an' by, she remim-
bered herself, an' pit her hand in her pocket, and tuk out
her little bright schissors, and shnipped a big hole in the
bag behind, an' out she leapt, an' picked up a big shtone
an' popped it intil the bag, an' rin aff home, an' locked the
door.

"An' the fox he tugged away up over the hill, with the
big shtone at his back thumpin' his shouldhers, thinkin' to
himself how heavy the little rid hin was, an' what a fine
shupper he 'd have. An' whin he came in sight iv his din
in the rocks, and shpied his ould mother a watchin' for him
at the door, he says, 'Mother! have ye the pot bilin'?'
An' the ould mother says, ' Sure an' it is : an' have ye the

40 FAITH GAKTNEY'S GIRLHOOD.

little rid bin?' ' Yes, jist here in me bag. Open the lid
o' the pot till I pit her in,' says he.

" An' the ould mother fox she lifted the lid o' the pot,
and the rashkill untied the bag, and hild it over the pot o'
bilin' wather, an' shuk in the big, heavy shtone. An' the
bilin' wather shplashed up all over the rogue iv a fox, an'
his mother, an' slicalded them both to death. An' the little
rid bin lived safe in her house foriver afther."

" Ah ! " breathed Bubby, in intense relief, for perhaps
the twentieth time. " Now tell about the girl that went to
seek her fortune ! "

" Away wid ye ! " cried Bridget Foye, " Kape yer prom-
ish, an* lave that till ye come back! "

So Herbert and his hoop trundled off to the big tree.

" An' how are yees now, honey? " says Bridget to Glory,
a whole catechism of questions in the one inquiry. " Have
ye come till any good times yit ? "

" Oh, Mrs. Foye," says Glory, " I think I 'm tied up
tight in the bag, an' I '11 never get out, except it 's into the
hot water ! "

"An' havint ye nivir a pair iv schissors in yer pocket? "
asks Bridget.

" I don't know," says poor Glory, hopelessly. And just
then Master Herbert comes trundling back, and Bridget
tells him the story of the girl that went to seek her fortune
and came to be a queen.

Glory half thinks that, some day or other, she, too, will
etart off and seek her fortune.

The next morning, Sunday, — never a holiday, and
scarcely a holy day to her, — Glory sits at the front win
dow, with the inevitable baby in her arms.

Mrs. Grubbling is up stairs getting ready for churcb

FAITH GARTNET'S GIRLHOOD. 41

After baby has his forenoon drink, and is got off to sleep.
— supposing he shall be complaisant, and go, — Glory is to
ilust up, and set table, and warm the dinner, and be all
ready to bring it up when the elder Grubblings shall have
returned, a hungered.

Out at the Pembertons' green gate she sees the tidy par
lor-maid come, in her smart shawl and new, bright ribbons ;
holding up her pretty printed mousseline dress with one
hand, as she steps down upon the street, and so revealing
the white hem of a clean starched skirt ; while the other
hand is occupied with the little Catholic prayer-book and a
folded handkerchief. Actually, gloves on her hands, too.
The gate closes with a cord and pulley after her, and some-
how the hem of the fresh, outspreading crinoline gets caught
in it, as it shuts. So she turns half round, and takes both
hands to push it open and release herself. Doing so, some
thing slips from between the folds of her handkerchief, and
drops upon the ground. A bright half dollar, which was
going to pay some of her little church clues to-day. And
she hurries on, never missing it out of her grasp, and is
half way down the side street before Glory can set the baby
suddenly on the carpet, rush out at the front door, regard
less that Mrs. Grubbling's chamber window overlooks he.
from above, pick up the coin, and overtake her.

" I saw you drop it by the gate," is all she says, as slit
puts it into Katie Ryan's hand.

Katie stares with surprise, turning round at the touch
upon her shoulder, and beholding the strange figure, and
the still stranger evidence of honesty and good-will.

"Indeed, and I'm thoroughly obliged to ye," says she,
oarely in time, for the odd figure is already retreating up
Jie street. " It's the red-headed girl over at Grubblings."
4*

42 FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD.

she continues to herself. " Well, anyhow, she 's an honest,
kind-hearted crature, and I '11 not forget it of her."

Glory has made another friend.

" Well, Glory McWhirk, this is very pretty doings in-
deed ! " began Mrs. Grabbling, in a high key, which had a
certain peculiar ring also of satisfaction in it, at finding
fair and obvious reason this time for a hearty fault-finding,

— meeting the little handmaiden at the parlor door whither
ehe l»ad hurried down to confront her in her delinquency,

— " So this is the way, is it, when my back is turned for
a minute ? That poor baby dumped down on the floor, to
crawl up to the hot stove, or do any other horrid thing he
likes, while you go flacketting out, bareheaded, into the
streets, after a topping jade like that ? You can't have any
high-flown acquaintances while you live in my house, I tell
you now, once and for all. Are you going to take up that
baby or not ? " Mrs. G rubbling had been thus far effectually
heading Glory off, by standing square in the parlor door
way. "Or perhaps, I 'd better stay at home and take care
of him myself," she added, in a tone of superlative irony,
as suggesting an alternative not only utterly absurd and
inadmissible, but actually appalling, — as if she had pro
posed to take off her head, instead of her bonnet, and sac
rifice that to the temporary amusement of her child, and the
relief of Glory.

Poor Glory, meekly murmuring that it was only to give
back some money the girl had dropped, slid past her mis
tress submissively, like a sentry caught off his post and
warned of mortal punishment, and shouldered arms once
more ; that is, picked up the baby, who, as if taking the
cue from his mother, and made conscious of his grievance,
bad at this moment begun to cry.

FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD. 43

Mrs. Grabbling, notwithstanding her shaken confidence,
put on her gloves, of which she had been sewing up the
tips, just now, by the window, when she witnessed Glory's
escapade, and departed, leaving the girl to her " pacifying "
office, sufficiently secure that it would be fulfilled.

Glory had a good cry of her own first, and then, " killing
two birds with one stone," pacified herself and the baby
" all under one."

After this, Katie Eyan never came out at the green gate,
of a Sunday on the way to church, or of a week-day to run
down the little back street of an errand, but she gave a
glance up at the Grubblings' windows ; and if she caught
sight of Glory's illumined head, nodded her own, with its
pretty, dark brown locks, quite pleasant and friendly. And
between these chance recognitions of Katie's, and the good
apple- woman's occasional sympathy, the world began to
brighten a little, even for poor Glory.

Still, good times went on, — grand, wonderful good times,
— all around her. And she caught distant glimpses, but
"was n't in 'em."

One day, as she hurried home from the grocer's with halfr
o-dozen eggs and two lemons, Katie ran out from the gate,
and met her half way down Budd Street.

" I 've been watchin' for ye," said she. " I seen ye go
out of an errand, an' I 've been lookin' for ye back. There 'a
to be a grand party at our house to-morrow night, an' I
thought may be ye 'd like to get lave, an' run over to take
a peep at it. Put on yer best frock, and make yer hair
tidy, an' I '11 sec to yer gettin' a good chance."

Poor Glory colored up, as Mrs. Grabbling might have
ione if the President's wife had bidden her. Not so, either
With a glow jf feeling, and an oppression of gratitude, and

*4 FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD.

a humility of delight, that Mrs. Grabbling, under any cir
cumstances whatever, could have known nothing about.

" If I only can," she managed to utter, "and, anyhow,
I 'm sure I 'm thankful to ye a thousand times."

And that night she sat up in her little attic room, aftei
everybody else was in bed, mending, in a poor fashion, a
rent in the faded " best frock," and sewing a bit of cotton
lace in the neck thereof that she had picked out of the rag
bag, >nd surreptitiously washed and ironed.

Next morning, she went about her homely tasks with an
alacrity that Mrs. Grabbling, knowing nothing of the hope
that had been let in upon her dreariness, attributed wholly
to the salutary effect of a "good scolding" she had admin
istered the day before. The work she got out of the girl
that Thursday forenoon ! Never once did Glory leave her
scrubbing, or her dusting, or her stove-polishing, to glance
from the windows into the street, though the market-boys,
and the waiters, and the confectioners' parcels were going in
at the Pembertons' gate, and the man from the green-house,
even, drove his cart up, filled with beautiful plants for the
staircase.

She waited, as in our toils we wait for Heaven, — trust
ing to the joy that was to come.

After dinner, she spoke, with fear and trembling. Her
lips turned quite white with anxiety as she stood before
Mrs. Grabbling with the baby in her arms.

The lady had been far from unobservant, on her own part,
all the day, of what was going on upon her richer neigh-
bor's premises. Her spirit was not attuned to gentle charity
just then. Her mood was not that of gracious compliance
Let us be pitiful to her, also. She, too, saw " good times'1
going on, and felt, bitterly, that she "was n't in 'em."

FAITH GARTNEF'S GIRLHOOD. 45

" Please, mum," says Glory, tremulously, " Katie Ryan
asked me over for a little while to-night to look at the
party."

Mrs. Grubbling actually felt a jealousy, as if her poor,
untutored handmaid were taking precedence of herself.

"What party ?" she snapped, — nothing else occurring
to her, in the sudden shock, to say.

" At the Pembertons', mum. I thought you knew
about it."

" And what if I do? Maybe I 'm going, myself."

Glory opened her eyes wide in mingled consternation and
surprise.

" I did n't think you was, mum, But if you is — "

" You 're willing, I suppose," retorted her mistress, laugh
ing, in a bitter way. " I 'm very much obliged. But I 'm
going out to-night, anyhow, whether it 's there or not, and
you can't be spared. Besides, you need n't think you 're
going to begin with going out evenings yet awhile. At your
age ! A pretty thing ! There, — go along, and don 't bother
me."

Glory went along ; and only the baby — of mortal listen
ers — heard the suffering cry that went up from her poor,
pinched, and chilled, and disappointed heart.

" Oh, baby, baby ! it was too good a time ! I 'd ought
to a knowed I could n't be in it ! "

Mr. and Mrs. Grubbling did go out that night. "Whether
it was a sudden thought, suggested by Glory's application,
or a previous resolve adapted by the mistress that she
might be out of the way of the tantalizing merriment oppo
site, I will not undertake to say. It is sufficient that there
ffas a benefit play at dne of the secondary theatres, and
that Mrs. Grubbling there forgot her jealousies, and the

46 FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD.

pangs, so far as she had at all understood them, of Glory
ICcWhirk

So safe as she felt, having bidden her stay, that Glory
would be faithful at her post, and ' ' mind " her children
well !

Only a stone's throw from those brightly-lighted windows
nf the Pembertons'. Their superfluous radiance pouring
out lavishly across the narrow street, searched even through
the dim panes behind which Glory sat, resting her tired
arms, after tucking away their ordinary burden in his crib,
and answering Herbert's wearisome questions, who from his
trundle-bed kept asking, ceaselessly, —

" What are they doing now? Can't you see, Glory ? "

" Hush, hush ! " said Glory, breathlessly, as a burst of
brilliant melody floated over to her ear. " They 're making
music now. Don't you hear? "

" No. How can I, with my head in the pillow ? I :m
coming there to sit with you, Glory." And the boy scram
bled from his bed to the window.

" No, no! you'll ketch cold. Besides, you'd oughter go
to sleep. Well, — only for a little bit of a minute, then,"
as Herbert persisted, and climbing upon her lap, flattened
his face against the wir-dow-pane, to look as closely as might
be at the show.

Glory gathered up her skirt about his shoulders and held
him for awhile, begging him uneasily, over and over, to
" be a good boy, and go back to bed." No ; he would n't
be a good boy, and he would n't go back to bed, till the
music paused. Then, by dint of promising that if it began
again she would open the window a " teenty little crack, 'r
so that he might hear it better, she coaxed him to the point
of yielding, and tucked him, chilly, yet half unwilling, in
the trundle.

FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD. 47

Back again, to look and listen. And, oh, wonderful and
unexpected fortune ! A beneficent hand has drawn up the
white linen shade at one of the back parlor windowa to
slide the sash a little from the top. It was Katie, whom
her young mistress, standing with her partner at thab cor
ner of the room, had called in from the hall to do it.

"No, no," whispered the young lady, hastily, as her
companion moved to render her the service she desired,
" let Katie come in. She '11 get such a good look down the
room at the dancers." There was no abated admiration in
the young man's eye, as he turned back to her side, and
allowed her kindly intention to be fulfilled.

Did Katie surmise, in her turn, with the freemasonry of
her class, how it was with her humble friend over the way, —
that she could n't get let out for the evening, and that she
would be sure to be looking and listening from her old post
opposite ? However it was, the linen shade was not lowered
again, and there between the lace and crimson curtains
stood revealed the graceful young figure of Edith Peraber-
ton, in her floating ball robes, with the wreath of morning-
glories in her hair.

"Oh, my sakcs and sorrows! Aint she just like a
princess ? Aint it a splendid time ? And I come so near
to be in it ! But I aint ; and I s'pose I shan't ever get
a chance again. Maybe Katie 'd get me over of a com
mon work-day though, sometime, to help her a bit or so.
Would n't I be glad to?"

" Oh, for gracious, child ! Don't ever come here again
You '11 catch your death. You '11 have the croup and whoop,
ing-cough, and everything to-morrow." This to Herbert,
who had of course tumbled out of bed again at Glory's firsl
rapturous exclamation.

+ft FAITH GARTNEF'S GIRLHOOD.

" No, I won't! " cried the boy, rebelliously ; " I '11 stay as
long as I like. And I '11 tell my ma how you was a wantin'
to go away and be the Pembertons' girl. Won't she lainm
you when she hears that? "

" You can tell wicked lies if you want to, Master Her
bert ; but you know I never said such a word, nor ever
thought of it. Of course I could n't if I wanted to ever so
had."

"Couldn't live there? I guess not. Think they'd
have a girl like you? What a lookin' you'd be, a-comin'
to the front door answerin' the bell ! "

" Now, Master Herbert," implored Glory, magnanimously
ignoring the persocai taunt, and intent only on the health
and safety of the malicious little scapegrace, who I believe
would rather have caught a horrible cold than not, if only
Glory might bear the blame, and he be kept in from
school and have the monopoly of her services to " keep him
pacified " — "do just go back to bed with you, like a good
boy, and I '11 make a tent over the baby, and open a tecnty
crack of the windy. The music 's beginuiu' again."

Here the door bell rang suddenly and sharply, and Master
Herbert fancying, as did Glory, that it was his mother come
back, scrambled into his bed again and covered himself up,
while the girl ran down to answer the summons.

It was Katie Ryan, with cakes and sweetmeats in her
bauds.

" I 've jist rin in to fetch ye these. Miss Edith gave
'em me, so ye need n't be feared. I knows ye 're sich an
honest one. An' it 's a tearin' shame, if ever there was, that
ye couldn't come over for a bit of diversion. Why don't
ve quit this?"

" Oh, hush ! " whispered Glory, with a gesture up the

FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD. 49

staircase, where she had just left the little pitcher with
tearfully long ears. "And thank you kindly, over and
o\er, I 'm sure. It's real good o' you to think o' mo so —
oh ! " And Glory could n't say anything more for a quick
little sob that came in her throat, and caught the last word
up into a spasm.

" Pooh ! it 's just nothing at all. I 'd do something bet
ter nor that if I had the chance ; an' I 'd adwise ye to get
out o' this if ye can. Good-bye. I 've set the parlor windy
open, an' the shade 's up. I knew it would jist be a con
venience."

Katie skipped over the street, that was scarcely more
than a gutter, and disappeared through the green gate.

Glory ran up the back stairs to the top of the house, and
hid away the sweet things in her own room to " make a
party" with next day. And then she went down and
tented over the crib with an old woolen shawl, and set a
high-backed rocking-chair to keep the draft from Herbert,
and opened the window " a teenty crack," according to
promise. In five minutes the slight freshening of the air
and the soothing of the music had sent the boy to sleep,
and watchful Glory closed the window and set things in
their ordinary arrangement once more.

Next morning Herbert made hoarse complaint, and was
kept in from school.

" What did you let him do, Glory, to catch such a cold? "
asked Mrs. Grubbling, who assumed for granted, whatever
was amiss, that Glory must have done, or let be done, or left
undone something.

" Nothing, mum, only he would get out of bed to hear
tits music," replied the girl.

" Well, you opened the window, you know you did, and

5

60 FAITH GAKTNEY'S GIRLHOOD.

Katie Ryan came over and kept the front door open. And
you said how you wished you could go over there and do
their chores. I told you I 'd tell"

"It's wicked lies, mum," burst out Glory, indignant
" I never said no such thing."

" Do you dare to tell him he lies, right before my face,
you good-for-nothing girl ? " shrieked the exasperated moth
er. " Where do you expect to go to? "

" I don't expect to go nowheres, mum ; and I would n't
say it was lies if he did n't tell what wasn't true."

" How should such a thing come into his head if you
did n't say it? Who do you suppose I 'd believe first? "

"There's many things comes into his head," answered
Glory, stoutly and simply, "and I think you'd oughter
believe me first, when I never told you a lie in my life, and
you did ketch Master Herbert fibbing, jist the other day,
but."

Somehow, Glory had grown strangely bold in her own
behalf since she had come to feel there was a bit of sympa
thy somewhere for her in the world.

" I know now where he learns it," retorted the mistress,
with persistent and angry injustice.

Glory's face blazed up, aud she took an involuntary step
to the woman's side at the stinging and warrantless accusa
tion.

" You don't mean that, mum, and you 'd oughter take it
back," said she, excited beyond all fear and habit of sub
mission.

Mrs. Grubbling raised her hand, passionately, and struck
the girl upon the cheek.

" I mean that, then, for your impudence ! Don't answei
me up again! "

FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD. 51

" No, mum," said Glory, in a low, strange tone ; quite
white now, except where the vindictive fingers had left their
crimson streaks. And she went off out of the room without
another word.

Over the knife-board she revolved her wrongs, and sharp
ened at length the keen edge of desperate resolution.

" Piease, mum," said she, in the old form of address, but
with quite a new manner, that, in the little dependant of
less than fifteen, startled the hard mistress, as she recog
nized it, " I aint noways bound to you, am I? "

She propounded her question, stopping short in her return
toward the china-closet through the sitting-room, and con
fronting the enemy with both hands full of knives and forks
that bristled out before her like a concentrated charge of
bayonets.

"Bound? What do you mean?" parried Mrs. Grub-
bling, dimly foreshadowing to herself what it would be if
Glory should break loose, and go.

" To stay, mum, and you to keep me, till I 'm growed
up," answered Glory, briefly.

" There 's no binding about it," replied the mistress.
41 Of course I would n't be held to anything of that sort. I
shan't keep you any longer than you behave yourself."

" Then if you please, mum, I think I '11 go," said Glory.
And she burst into a passion of tears, which she wiped first
with the back of one hand, and then with the other, — the
bright steel blades and tines flashing up and down danger
ously about her head, like lightnings about a rain cloud.

" Humph ! Where? " asked Mrs. Grabbling, sarcastically.

"I don't know, yet," said Glory, the sarcasm drying her
tears, as she moved on to the closet and deposited her knives
and forks in the tray. " I 'spose I can go to a office."

52 FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD.

" And where '11 you get your meals and your lodgings
till you find a place? " The cat thought she had her paw
on the mouse, now, and could play with her as securely and
cruelly as she pleased.

" If you go away at all," continued Mrs. Grabbling,
with what she deemed a finishing stroke of policy, " you
go straight off. I '11 have no dancing back and forth to
offices from here."

" Do you mean right off, this minute ? " asked Glory,
aghast

" Yes, just that. Pack up and go, or else let me hear no
more about it."

The next thing in Glory's programme of duty was to lay
the table for dinner. But she went out of the room, and
slowly off, up stairs.

Pretty soon she came down again, with her eyes very
swelled and tearful, and her shabby shawl and bonnet on.

"I'm going, mum," said she, as one resolved to face
calmly whatever might befall. " I did n't mean it to be
sudden, but it are. And I would n't never a gone, if I 'd a
thought anybody cared for me the leastest bit that ever
was. I wouldn't mind bein' worked and put upon, and
not havin' any good times ; but when people hates me, and
goes to say I does n't tell the truth," — here Glory broke
down, and the tears poured over her stained cheeks again,
and she essayed once more instinctively to dry them, which
reminded her that her hands again were full.

"It's some goodies — from the party, mum," — she
struggled to say between short breaths and sobs, " that
Katie Ryan give me, — an' I kept — to make a party —
for the children, with — to-day, mum, — when the chores
was done, — and I '11 leave 'em — for 'em, — if you please. '

FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD. 53

Glory laid her coals of fire upon the table as she spoke.
Master Herbert eyed them, as one utterly unconscious of a
scorch.

" I 'spose I might come back and get my bundle," said
Glory, standing still in the hope of one last kindly or relent
ing word.

" Oh, yes, if you get a place," said her mistress, dryly,
affecting to treat the whole affair as a childish, though un
wonted burst of petulance ; and making sure that a few
hours would see Glory back, subdued, discouraged, peni
tent, and ready to bear the double task of to-morrow that
should make up for the rebellion and lost time of to-day.

But Glory, not daring, unbidden, even to kiss the baby,
went steadily and sorrowfully out into the street, and drew
the door behind her, that shut with a catch-lock, and fast-
ened her out into the wide world.

Not stopping to think, she hurried on, up Budd and down
Branch Street, and across the green common-path to the
apple-stand and Bridget Foye.

"I've done it ! I 've gone ! And I don't know what to
do, nor where to go to !"

" Arrah, poor little rid hin ! So, ye 've found yer schis-
sors, have ye, an' let yersel' loose out o' the bag ? Well,
\t 's I that is glad, though I would n't pit ye up till it,"
says Bridget Foye, washing her hands in innocency.

Poor little red hen. She had cut a hole, and jumped out
i f the bag, to be sure ; but here she was, " all alone by
uerself " once more, and the foxes — Want and Cruelty —
ravening after her all through the great, dreary wood !

This day, at least, passed comfortably enough, however,
although with an undertone of sadness, — in the sunshine,
oy Bridget's apple-stand, watching the gay passers-by, and
5*

54 FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD.

shaping some humble hopes and plans for the future. For
dinner, she. shared Mrs. Foye's plain bread and cheese, and
made a dessert of an apple and a handful of peanuts. At
night Bridget took her home and gave her shelter, and the
next day she started her off with a " God-bless-ye and good-
luck-till-ye," in the charge of an older girl who lodged in
Mie «une building, and who was also « out after a place "

CHAPTER VI.
AUNT HENDERSON'S GIRL-HUNT.

M Black spirits and white,
Red spirits and gray ;
Mingle, mingle, mingle,
You that mingle may."

MACBETH.

IT was a small, close, dark room, — Mrs. Griggs's Intel
ligence Office, — a little counter and show-case dividing off
its farther end, making a sanctum for Mrs. Griggs, who
combined a little of the tape-and-button business with her
more lucrative occupation, and who sat here in immovable
and rheumatic ponderosity, dependent for whatever involved
locomotion on the rather alarming alacrity of an impish-
looking grand-daughter who, just at the moment whereof I
write, is tearing in at the street door, and elbowing her way
through the throng of applicants for places and servants,
quite regardless of the expression of horror and astonish
ment she has called forth on the face of a severe-looking,
elderly lady, who, by her impetuous onset, has been rudely
thrust back into the very arms of a fat, unsavory cook with
whom she had a minute before been quite unwillingly set
to confer by the high-priestess of the place, and who had
almost equally relieved and exasperated her, by remarking,
as she glanced over her respectable but somewhat unstylish

56 FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD.

figure md dress, that she " guessed it would n't be worth
while to talk about it, for she had never lived with any but
fust-class ladies, and her wages was three-and-a-half."

Aunt Henderson grasped Faith's hand as if she felt she
had brought her into a danger, and held her close to her
side while she paused a moment to observe, with the strange
fascination of repulsion, the manifestation of a phase cf
human life and the working of a vocation so utterly and
astoundingly novel to herself.

" Well, Melindy," said Mrs. Griggs, salutatorily.

" Well, grandma," answered the girl, with a pert air of
«how-off and consequence, " I found the place, and I found
the lady. Aint I been quick ? "

" Yes. What did she say ? "

"Said the girl left last Saturday. Aint had anybody
Bence. Wants you to send her a first-rate one, right oS,
straight. Has Care'&ne been here after me ? "

" No. Did you get the money ?"

" She never said a word about it Guess she forgot the
month was out,"

" Did n't you ask her? "

" Me ? No. I did the arrant, and stood and looked at
her, — jest as pious — ! And when she did n't say nothin*,
I come away."

" Winny M'Goverin," said Mrs. Griggs, " that place '11
suit you. Leastways, it must, for another month. You 'd
better go right round there."

" Where is it ? " asked the fat cook, indifferently, over
Bliss Henderson's shoulder.

" Up in Mount Pleasant Street, Number 53. First-class
place, and plenty of privileges. Margaret McKay," sl»e
continued, to another, who stood with a waiting expression

FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD. 57

beside the counter, "you're too hard to please. Here's
one more place," — handing her a card with address, —
"and if you don't take that, I won't do nothing more
for you, if you air Scotch and a Protestant! Mary
McGinnis, it 's no use your talking to that lady from the
country. She can't spare you to come down but twice or
so a year."

" Lord ! " ejaculated Mary McG-innis, " I would n't live
a whole year with no lady that ever was, let alone the
country ! "

" Come out, Faith ! " said Miss Henderson, in a deep,
ineffable tone of disgust, drawing her niece to the door, just
in time to escape a second charge of Miss Melindy's, who
was dashing in that direction again, to "look down street
after CareVme."

" If that's a genteel West End Intelligence Office," cried
Aunt Faith, as she touched the sidewalk, " let 's go down
town and try some of the common ones."

A large hall, — where the candidates were ranged on
settees under order and restraint, and the superintendent,
or directress, occupied a desk placed upon a platform near
the entrance, — was the next scene whereon Miss Hender
son and Faith Gartney entered. Things looked clean and
respectable. System obtained here. Aunt Faith felt en
couraged. But she made no haste to utter her business.
Tall, self-possessed, and dignified, she stood a few paces
inside the door, and looked down the apartment, surveying
coolly the faces there, and analyzing, by a shrewd mental
process, their indications.

Her niece had stopped a moment on the landing outside
to fasten her boot-lace.

Miss Henderson did not wear hoops. Also, tie streets

58 FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD.

being sloppy, she had tucked up her plain, gray merino diess
over a quilted black alpaca petticoat Her boots were
splashed, and her black silk bonnet was covered with a large
gray barege veil, tied down over it to protect it from the
dripping roofs. Judging merely by exterior, one unskilled
in countenance would hardly take her at a glance, indeed,
for a " fust-class " lady.

The directress — a busy woman, with only half a glance
to spare for any one — moved toward her.

" Take a seat, if you please. What kind of a place do
you want ? "

Aunt Faith turned full face upon her, with a look that
was prepared to be overwhelming, if it met impertinence.

" I 'm looking for a place, ma'am, where I can find a
respectable girL"

Her firm, emphatic utterance was heard to the farthest
end of the hall.

The girls tittered.

Aunt Faith sent her keen eyes quickly over the benches.

Faith G-artney came in at this moment, and walked up
quietly to Miss Henderson's side. There was visibly a new
impression made, and the tittering ceased. Especially as
the directress also enforced order with a look and word of
Authority.

" I beg pardon, ma'am. I see. But we have so many
in, and I did n't fairly look. General housework ? "

"Yes; general and particular — both. "Whatever I set
her to do."

The directress turned toward the throng of faces whose
fire of eyes was now all concentrated on the unflinching
countenance of Miss Henderson.

" Ellen Mahoney ! "

FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD. 59

A stout, well-looking damsel, with an expression that
seemed to say she answered to her name, but was neverthe
less persuaded of the utter uselessness of the movement,
half rose from her seat.

" You need n't call up that girl," said Aunt Faith, de
cidedly ; " I don't want her."

Ellen Mahoney had giggled among the loudest.

" She knows what she does want ! " whispered a decent-
appearing young woman to a girl at her side with an eager
face looking out from a friz of short curly hair, " and that 's
more than half of 'em do. She 's a real sensible woman,
and the young one 's just a picture to look at. I 'd try for
it myself, only I 'm half engaged to the one that had me up
a minute ago."

" Country, did you say, ma'am? or city?" asked the
directress once more of Miss Henderson.

" I did n't say. It 's country, though, — twenty miles
out."

"What wages?"

" I '11 find the girl first, and settle that afterwards."

" Anybody to do general housework in the country,
twenty miles out? "

The prevailing expression of the assemblage changed.
There was a settling down into seats, a withdrawing of
earnest and curious glances, and a resumption of knitting
and needlework.

One pair of eyes, however, looked on, even more eagerly
than before. One young girl, — she with the short curly
hair, — who had been gazing at the pretty face of Faith
since she came in as if it had been a vision, and who
had n't seen the country, and had hardly heard it named,
for six years and more last gone of her young life, and

60 FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD.

could with difficulty conceive that there should be any
straight or easily traversed path out of these interminable
city walls into the breadth and beauty, that came to her as
a far-off recollection in her dreams of delight, — caught
her breath, convulsively, at the word.

" I wish I dar'st ! I 've a great mind ! " whispered she
to her tidy companion.

While she hesitated, a slatternly ycung woman, a few
seats further forward, moved, with a " don't care " sort of
look, to answer the summons.

" Oh, dear! " sighed the first, quite sure of her own wish
now that she perceived herself anticipated, "I'd ought to
a done it ! "

" I don't think she would take a young girl like you,"
replied her friend.

"That's the way it always is!" exclaimed the disap
pointed voice, in forgetfulness and excitement uttering
itself aloud. " Plenty of good times going, but they all
go right by. I aint never in any of 'em ! "

" Glory McWhirk ! " chided the directress from her desk,
"be quiet! Kemember the rules, or leave the room."

" Call that red-headed girl to me," said Miss Henderson,
turning square round from the dirty figure that was pre
senting itself before her, and addressing the desk. " She
looks clean and bright," she added, aside, to Faith, as
Glory timidly yet hastily answered a signal and approached.
" And poor. And longing for a chance. I '11 have her."

A girl with a bonnet full of braids and roses, and a look
of general knowingness, started up close at Miss Hender
son's side, and interposed, while Glory was yet on her way.

"Did you say twenty miles, mum? How often could I
eome to town ? "

FAITH GAETNET'S GIRLHOOD. 61

" You have n't been asked to go out of town, that I kno\v
of," replied Miss Henderson, frigidly, abashing the office-
habitue, who had not been used to find her catechism cut
to summarily short, and moving aside to speak with Glory.

" What was it I heard you say just now ? "

"I didn't mean to speak out so, mum. It was only
what I mostly thinks. That there 's always lots of good
times in the world, only I aint never in "em."

"And you thought it would be good times, did you, to
go off twenty miles into the country, to live alone with an
old woman like me ? "

Miss Henderson's tone softened kindly to the rough, un
couth girl, and encouraged her to confidence.

" Well, you see, mum, I should like so to go where things
is green and pleasant. I lived in the country once, — ever
so long ago, — when I was a little girl."

Miss Henderson could not help a smile that was half
amused, and wholly pitiful, as she looked in the face of this
creature of fourteen, so strange and earnest, with its out
line of fuzzy, cropped hair, and heard her talk of " ever so
long ago."

"There's only just the Common here, you know, mum.
And that 's when all the chores is done. And you can't go
nn the grass, either."

"Are you strong?"

" Yes'm. I aint never sick."

" And willing to work? "

" Yes'm. Jest as much as I know how."

" And want to learn more ? "

" Yes 'm. I don't know as I 'd know enough hardly, to
l)egin, though."

" Can you wash dishes ? And sweep ? And set table ? "
6

62 FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD.

To each of these queries Glory successively interposed an
affirmative monosyllable, adding, gratuitously, at the close,
" And tend baby, too, real good." Her eyes filled, as she
thought of the Grubbling baby with the love that always
grows for that whereto one has sacrificed one's self.

" You won't have any babies to tend. Time enough for
that when you 've learnt plenty of other things. Who do
you belong to ? "

" I don't belong to anybody, mum. Father, and mother,
and grandmother is all dead. I 've done the chores and
tended baby up at Mrs. Grubbling's ever since. That 's in
Budd Street. I 'm staying now in High Street, with Mrs.
Foye. Number fifteen."

" I '11 come after you to-morrow. Have your things ready
to go right off."

"I'm so glad you took her, auntie," said Faith, as they
went out. " She looks as if she hadn't been well treated.
Think of her wanting so to go into the country ! I should
like to do something for her, myself."

"That's my business," answered Aunt Faith, curtly,
but not crossly. " You '11 find somebody to do for, if you
look out. If your mother's willing, though, you might
mend up one of your old school dresses for her. 'Tis n't
likely she's got anything to begin with." And so saying,
Aunt Faith turned precipitately into a dry-goods store,
where she bought a large plaid woolen shawl, and twelve
yards of dark calico. Coming out, she darted as suddenly,
and apparently unpremeditatedly, across the street into a
milliner's shop, and ordered home a brown rough-and-ready
straw bonnet, and four yards of ribbon to match.

"And that you can put on, too," she said to Faith.

That evening, Faith was even unwontedly cheery and

FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD. 63

busy, taking a burned balf-breadth out of a dark cashmere
dress, darning it at the armhole, and pinning the plain rib
bon over the brown straw bonnet

At the same time, Glory, all unconscious of the great
things preparing for her, went up across the city to Budd
Street, with a mingled heaviness and gladness at her heart,
and, after a kindly farewell interview with good-natured
Katie Ryan at the Pembertons' - green gate, rang, with a
half guilty feeling at her own independence, at the Grub-
blings' door. " Bubby " opened it

"Why, ma! " he shouted up the staircase, "it's Glory
come back ! "

" I 've come to .get my bundle," said the girl.

Mrs. Grabbling had advanced to the stair-head, some
what briskly, with the wakeful baby in her arms. Two
days' "tending" had greatly mollified her sentiments to
ward the offending Glory.

" And she 's come to get her bundle," added the young
usher, from below.

Mrs. Grabbling retreated into her chamber, and shut
herself and the baby in.

Poor Glory crept up stairs to her little attic, like a house
breaker.

Coming down again, she set her bundle on the stairs, and
knocked.

" What is it? " was the ungracious response.

"Please, mum, mightn't I say good-bye to the baby?"

The latch had slipped, and the door was already slight] j
ajar. Baby heard the accustomed voice, and struggled in
his mother's arms.

"A pretty time to come disturbing him to do itl"
grumbled she. Nevertheless, she set the babj on the floor,

64 FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD.

who tottled out, and was seized by Glory, standing there in
the dark entry, and pressed close in her poor, long- wearied,
faithful arms.

" Oh, baby, baby ! I 'm in it now ! And I don't know
rightly whether it 's a good time or not 1 "

CHAPTER VH.

CARES; AND WHAT CAME OP THEM.

" To speed to-day, to be put back to-morrow ;
To feed on hope, to pine with feare and sorrow 4

To fret thy soul with crosses and with cares ;
To eate thy heart through comfortlesse dispaire*

Two years and more had passed since the New Year's
dance at the Ilusbleighs'.

The crisis of '57 and '58 was approaching its culmina
tion. The great earthquake that for months had been
making itself heard afar off by its portentous rumbling
was heaving to the final crash. Already the weaker houses
had fallen and were forgotten. The statelier edifices were
tottering and crumbling on every side. Men saw great cracks
and fissures opening at their feet, and hardly dared move to
the right hand or to the left. All through the great city,
when the pavements were still at nighc, and the watchmen
paced their quiet rounds, who might count the chambers
where lay sleepless heads, revolving feverishly the ways and
means for the morrow ? Ah ! God only knows the life that
wakes and struggles when the outer, daily, noisy life of a
great metropolis is laid asleep !

When a great financial trouble sweeps down upon a
people, there are three general classes who receive and feel
it, each in its own peculiar way.
6*

66 FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD.

There are the great capitalists, — the enormously rich, —
who, unless a tremendous combination of adversities shall
utterly ruin here and there one, grow the richer yet for the
calamities of their neighbors. There are also the very poor,
who have nothing to lose but their daily labor and their daily
bread, — who may suffer and starve ; but who, if by any
little saving of a better time they can manage just to buj
bread, shall be precisely where they were, practically, when
the storm shall have blown over. Between these lies the great
middle class, — among whom, as on the middle ground, the
world's great battle is continually waging, — of persons who
are neither rich nor poor ; who have neither secured for
tunes to fall back upon, nor yet the independence of their
hands to turn to, when business and its income fail. This
is the class that suffers most. Most keenly in apprehension,
in mortification, in after privation.

Of this class was the Gartney family.

Mr. Gartney was growing pale and thin. No wonder ;
with sleepless nights, and harassed days, and forgotten, or
unrelished meals. His wife watched him and waited for
him, and contrived special comforts for him, and listened
to his confidences, and turned in her brain numberless plans
and possibilities within her limited sphere of action.

This is what women do when the world " on 'change " ia
seething, and tossing, and agonizing in the clutch of a great
commercial crisis.

Faith felt that there was a cloud upon the house, and
knew that it had to do with money. So she hid her own
little wants as long as she could, wore her old ribbons,
mended last year's discarded gloves, and yearned vaguely
and helplessly to do something, — some great thing if she
only could, that might remedy or help.

FAITH GARTNEI S GIRLHOOD. 67

Once, she thought she would learn Stenography. Sha
had heard somebody speak one day of the great pay a lady
short-hand-writer had received at Washington, for some
Congressional reports. Why should n't she learn how to do
it, and perhaps, some time or other, if the terrible worst
should ever come to the worst, make known her secret
resource, and earn enough for all the family ?

Something like this, — some " high and holy work ol
love," — she longed to do. Longed almost, — if she were once
prepared and certain of herself, — for even misfortune that
should justify and make practicable her generous purpose.

She got an elementary book, and set to work, by herself.
She toiled wearily, every day, at such times as she could
command, for nearly a month ; despairing at every step, yet
persevering ; for, beside the grand dream for the future,
there was a present fascination in the queer little scrawls
and dots, the mystic keys to such voluminous meaning, that
held her interested, of itself.

Well, and how did it all end ?

She did n't master the short-hand art, of course. Every
body knows that is a work for patient years. It cannot be
known how long she might have gone on with the attempt,
if her mother had not come to her one day with some par
cels of cut-out cotton cloth.

" Faithie, dear," said she, deprecatingly, " I don't like
to put such work upon you while you go to school : but you
have a good deal of leisure time, after all ; and I ought not
to afford to have Miss McElroy this spring. Can't you
make up some of these with me before the summer ? "

They were articles of clothing for Faith, herself. She
felt the present duty upon her ; and how could she rebel ?
Yet what was to become of the gieat scheme and the heroic

68 FAITH GARTNET'S GIRLHOOD.

future? She couldn't help thinking — if her mother had
only known how this leisure of hers was really being used,
would she have brought her all this cotton to stitch ?

What then? Could she never do anything better than
this ? Meantime, the stitching must be done.

By-and-by would come vacation, and in the following
spring, at furthest, she would leave school, and then — she
would see. She would write a book, may be. Why not? And
secretly dispose of it, for a large sum, to some self-regardles?
publisher. Should there never be another Fanny Burney ?
Not a novel, Chough, or any grown-up book, at first ; but a
juvenile, at least, she could surely venture on. Look at all
the Cousin Maries, and Aunt Fannies, and Sister Alices,
whose productions piled the booksellers' counters during the
holiday sales, and found their way, sooner or later, into all
the nurseries, and children's bookcases 1 And think of all
the stories she had invented to amuse Hendie with ! Better
than some of these printed ones, she was quite sure, if only
she could set them down just as she had spoken them under
the inspiration of Hendie's eager eyes and ready glee.

She made two or three beginnings, during the summer
holidays, but always came to some sort of a " sticking-
place," which couldn't be hobbled over in print as in ver
bal relation. All the links must be apparent, and every*
thing be made to hold well together. She wouldn't have
known what they were, if you had asked her, — but the
" unities " troubled her. And then the labor loomed up
so large before her ! She counted the lines in a page of a
book of the ordinary juvenile size, and the number of letters
in a line, and found out the wonderful compression of which
manuscript is capable. And there must be tw* hundred
pages, at least, to make a book of tolerable size

FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD. 69

She remembered how her elder brother, now away off in
San Francisco, had told her once, when she was a very little
girl, that he was going to make her a baby-house. Such a
wonderful baby-house as it was to be! It should have
three stories, and the proper number of furnished rooms in
each, and doll inhabitants, likewise, of marvellous wiry
- mechanism, that should move and walk about. (Long be
fore the Peripatetikos, or whatever they call the wind-up
walking dolls, were thought of by any older brain, mind
you ! ) And how all he ever did about it, when urged to
execution, was to take his little hatchet out into the wood
shed and chop away upon a shapeless log ! Always making
a visionary beginning, — always unfolding fascinating plans,
— believing in them devoutly, and never getting really and
fairly into the work! Ah, how we all build, and build,
and make such feeble actual strokes toward completion!

So Faithie's brain-puppets waited in limbo, and could
not by any sorcery of hers be evoked from shade into life
and action.

There seemed to be nothing in the world that she could
do. She could not give her time to charity, and go about
among the poor. She had nothing to help them with. Her
father gave, already, to ceaseless applications, more than he
could positively spare. So every now and then she relin
quished in discouragement her aspirations, and fell into the
ordinary channel again, and lived on, from day to day, as
other girls did, getting what pleasure she could ; hampered
continually, however, with the old, inevitable tether, ol
"can't afford."

" If something only would happen ! " If some new cir-
sumstance would creep into her life, and open the way for
a more real living I

70 FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD.

Do you think girls of seventeen don't have thoughts and
longings like these ? I tell you they do ; and it is n't that
they want to have anybody else meet with misfortune, or
die, that romantic combinations may thereby result to them ;
or that they are in haste to enact the every-day romance, —
to secure a lover, — get married, — and set up a life of their
own ; it is that the ordinary marked-out bound of civilized
young-lady existence is so utterly inadequate to the fresh,
vigorous, expanding nature, with its noble hopes, and its
Apprehension of limitless possibilities.

Something did happen.

"Winter came on again. After a twelvemonth of struggle
ind pain such as none but a harassed man of business can
tver know or imagine, Mr. Gartney found himself " out
of the wood," and safe, as it were, in open country once
more ; but stripped, and torn, and bruised, and weary, and
seeing no path before him over the wide, waste moor.

He had survived the shock, — his last note was taken
up, — he had labored through, — and that was all. He
was like a man from off a wreck, who has brought away
nothing but his life.

He came home one morning from New York, whither he
had been to attend a meeting of creditors of a failed firm,
and went straight to his chamber with a raging headache.

The next day, the physician's chaise was at the door, and
on the landing, where Mrs. Gartney stood, pale and anxious,
gazing into his face for a word, after the visit to the sick
room was over, Dr. Gracie drew on his gloves, and said to
ber, with one foot on the stair, — " Symptoms of typhoid.
Keep him absolutely quiet."

CHAPTER VIII.

A NICHB IN LIFE, AND A WOMAN TO MIL IT.

" A Traveller between Life and Death."

WORDSWORTH.

Miss SAMPSON was at home this evening. It was not
what one would have pictured to one's self as a scene of
home comfort or enjoyment ; but Miss Sampson was at
home. In her little room of fourteen feet square, up a
dismal flight of stairs, sitting, in the light of a single lamp,
by her air-tight stove, whereon a cup of tea was keeping
warm ; that, and the open newspaper on the little table in
the corner, being the only things in any way cheery about
her.

Not even a cat or a canary-bird had she for companion
ship. There was no cozy arrangement for daily feminine
employment ; no work-basket, or litter of spools and tapes ;
nothing to indicate what might be her daily way of going
on. On the broad ledges of the windows, where any other
woman would have had a plant or two, there was no array
of geraniums or verbenas — not even a seedling orange-tree
ur a monthly-rose. But in one of them lay a plaid shawl
and a carpet-bag, and in the other that peculiar and nearly
obsolete piece of feminine property, a paper bandbox, tied
about with tape.

72 FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD.

— Packed up for a journey?

Beader, Miss Sampson was always packed up. She was
that much-enduring, all-foregoing creature, a professional
nurse.

There would have been no one to feed a cat, or a canary-
bird, or to water a rose-hush, if she had had one. Her
home was no more to her than his station at the corner of
the street is to the handcart-man or the hackney-coachman.
It was only the place where she might receive orders .
whence she might go forth to the toilsomeness and gloom
of one sick-room after another, returning between each
sally and the next to her cheerless post of waiting, — keep
ing her strength for others, and living no life of her own.
She dwelt, as it were, in the dim and desolate border-land
that lies between the stirring world and the unconscious
grave ; now going down into the verge of the infinite gloom
with one who must pass beyond it, and now upholding and
helping one who struggles back to the light of earth ; but
never tarrying long herself among the living and the strong.

There was nothing in Miss Sampson's outer woman that
would give you, at first glance, an idea of her real energy
and peculiar force of character. She was a tall and slender
figure, with no superfluous weight of flesh ; and her loug,
thin arms seemed to have grown long and wiry with lifting,
and easing, and winding about the poor wrecks of mortality
that had lost their own vigor, and were fain to beg a portion
of hers. Her face was thin and rigid, too, — moulded to
no mere graces of expression, — but with a strong outline,
and a habitual compression about the mouth that told you,
when you had once learned somewhat of its meaning, of the
firm will that would go straight forward to its object, and
do, without parade or delay, whatever there might be to be

FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD. 73

done. Decision, determination, judgment, and readiness
were all in that habitual look of a face on which little else
had been called out for years. But you would not so have
read it at first sight. You would almost inevitably have
called her a " scrawny, sour-looking old maid."

A croaking, deliberate, weighty step was heard upon the
atair, and then a knock of decision at Miss Sampson's door.

" Come in ! "

And as she spoke, Miss Sampson took her cup and saucer
in her hand. That was to be kept waiting no longer for
whatever visitor it might chance to be. She was compos
edly taking her first sip as Doctor Gracie entered.

" Don't move, Miss Sampson ; don't let me interrupt."

" I don't mean to ! " answered the nurse, laconically
" What sends you here ? "

" A new patient"

" Humph ! Not one of the last sort, I hope. You know
my kind, and 't aint any use talking up about any others.
Any old woman can make gruel, and feed a baby with cat
nip tea. Don't offer me any more such work as that ! If
it's work that is work, speak out ! — I 'm always ready."

"It's work that nobody else can do for me. A critical
case of typhoid, and nobody in the house that understands
such illness. I 've promised to bring you to-night."

" You knew I was back, then ? "

" I knew you would be. I only sent you at the pinch.
I warned them you 'd go as soon as things were tolerably
comfortable."

"Of course I would. What business should I have
where there was nothing wanted of me but to go to bed at
nine o'clock, and sleep till daylight ? That aint the sort
•f corner I was cut out to fill."
7

74 FAITH GARTNEY 'S GIRLHOOD.

" Well, drink your tea, and put on your bonnet There 'a
a carriage at the door."

'• Man? or woman ? " asked Miss Sampson, setting down
her empty cup on the now cooling stove.

" A man, — Mr. Henderson Gartney, Hickory Street"

" Out of his head ? "

" Yes, — and getting more so. Family all frightened to
death."

" Keep 'em out of my way, then, and let me have him to
myself. One crazy patient is enough, at a time, for any one
pair of hands. I 'm ready."

The plaid shawl and bonnet were on, and Miss Sampson
had her bandbox in her hand. The doctor took up the car
pet-bag.

In fifteen minutes more, they were in Hickory Street ;
and the nurse was speedily installed, or rather installed
herself, in her office. Dr. Gracie hastened away to another
patient, promising to call again at bedtime.

" Now, ma'am," said Miss Sampson to Mrs. Gartney,
who, after taking her first to the bedside of the patient, had
withdrawn with her to the little dressing-room -Adjoining,
and given her a resume, of the treatment thus far followed,
with the doctor's last directions to herself, — " yva just go
down stairs to your supper. I know, by your looks, you aint
had a mouthful to-day. That 's no way to help take care
of sick folks."

Mrs. Gartney smiled a little, feebly ; and an expression
of almost childlike rest and relief came over her face. She
felt herself in strong hands.

" And you?" she asked. " Shall I send yo^ something
here?"

" I 've drunk a cup of tea, before I started. S. I see my

FATTH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD. 75

way clear, I '11 run down for a bite after you get through.
I don't want any special providings. I take my nibbles
anyhow, as I go along. You need n't mind, more 'n as if I
was n't here. I shall find my way all over the house, and
pick up what 's necessary. Now, you go."

" Only tell me how he seems to you," questioned Mrs.
Gartney, lingering anxiously.

" Well, — not so terrible sick. Just barely bad enough
to keep me here. I don't take any easy cases."

The odd, abrupt manner and speech comforted, while
they somewhat astonished Mrs. Gartney. Only that she
relt sure Dr. Gracie would have brought her no one but the
very person who ought to be here, she would have hardly
known what to think of this rough-spoken, unceremonious
woman.

"Leave the bread and butter and cold chicken on the
table," said she to her parlor maid afterward, when the tea-
things were about to be removed ; " and keep the chocolate
hot, down stairs. Faithie, — sit here ; and if Miss Sampson
comes down by-and-by, see that she is made comfortable."

It was ten o'clock when Miss Sampson came down, and
then it was with Dr. Gracie, who had just made his last
visit for the night.

" Cheer up, little lady ! " said the doctor, meeting Faith's
anxious, inquiring glance that sped so quickly and eagerly
from one face to the other. "Not so bad, by any means,
as we might be. The only difficulty will be to keep Nurse
Sampson here. She won't stay a minute, if we begin to get
better too fast. Yes — I will take a bit of chicken, 1
think; and — what have you there that's hot?" as the
maid came in with the chocolate pot, in answer to Faith's
ring of the bell. "Ah, yes! Chocolate! I missed my

76 FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD.

tea, somehow, to-night." The "somehow" had been in
hia kindly quest of the best nurse in Mishaumok for his
long-time friend and patient.

" Sit down, Miss Sampson. Save muscle, when you can.
Let me help you to a scrap of cold chicken. T7hat? Drum
stick ! Miss Faithie, — here is a woman who makes it a
principle to go through the world, choosing drumsticks!
She 's a study ; and I set you to finding her out."

So the doctor chatted on, for the ten minutes of his fur-
cher stay, and then took leave, ordering Faith off to bed, as
he departed.

Last night, as he had told Miss Sampson, the family had
been " frightened to death." He had found Faith sitting
on the front stairs, at midnight, when he came in at a sud
den summons, severer symptoms having declared themselves
in the sick man. She was pale and shivering, and caught
him nervously by both hands, as he ascended.

"Oh, doctor!"

" And oh, Miss Faithie ! This is no place for you. "You
ought to be in bed."

"But I can't. Mother is all alone, except Mahala. And
I don't dare stay up there, either. What shall we do?

For all answer, the doctor had just taken her in his arms,
and carried her down to the sofa in the hall, where he laid
her, and covered her over with his great-coat. There she
staid, passively, till he came back. And then he told her,
kindly and gravely, that if she could be quite quiet, and
firm, she might go and lie on the sofa in her mother's
dressing-room for the remainder of the night, to be at hand
tor any needed service. To-morrow he would see that they
were otherwise provided.

And so, to-night, here was Miss Sampson eating hei
drumstick.

FAITH GARTNJEY'S GIRLHOOD. 77

Faith watched the hard lines of her face as she did so,
and wondered what, and how much Dr. Gracie had meant
by " setting her to find her out."

" I 'm afraid you have n't had a very nice supper," said
she, timidly. " Do you like that best? "

" Somebody must always eat drumsticks," was the con
cise reply.

And so, presently, without any farther advance toward
acquaintance, they w™t up stairs : and the house, under
the new, energetic rule, soon subsided into quiet for the
nigH.

7*

CHAPTER IX.

LIFE OK DEATH V
*• With God the Lord belong the issues from death." — Ps. 68 ; 14

THE nursery was a corner room, opening both into Faith's
%nd her mother's. Hendie and Mahala Harris had been
removed up stairs, and the apartment was left at Miss
Sampson's disposal. Mrs. Gartney's bed had been made
up in the little dressing-room at the head of the front
entry, so that she and the nurse had the sick-room between
them.

Faith came down the two steps that led from her room
into the nursery, the next night at bedtime, as Miss Samp
son entered from her father's chamber to put on her night
wrapper and make ready for her watch.

" How is he, nurse ? He will get well, won't he ? What
does the doctor say ? "

" Nothing," said Miss Sampson, shortly. " He don't
know, and he don't pretend to. And that 's just what
proves he 's good for something. He aint one of the sort
that comes into a sick-room as if the Almighty had made
him a kind of special delegit, and left the whole concern to
him. He knows there 's a solemner dealing there than his,
whether it's for life or death."

FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD. 79

" But he can't help thinking" said Faith, tremblingly.
"And 1 wish I knew. What do you — ?" But Faith
paused, for she was afraid, after all. to finish the question,
and to hear it answered,

" I don't think. I just keep doing. That 's my part.
Folks that think too much of what 's a-coming, most likely
won't attend to what there is."

Faith >vas finding out, — a little of Miss Sampson, and
a good deal of herself. Had she not thought too much of
what might be coming? Had she not missed, perhaps,
some of her own work, when that work was easier than
DOW ? And how presumptuously she had wished for " some
thing to happen ! " Was God punishing her for that ?

"You just keep still, and patient, — and wait," said
Miss Sampson, noting the wistful look of pain. "That's
your work, and after all, maybe it 's the hardest kind. And
I can't take it off folks' shoulders," added she to herself in
an under- voice ; " so I need n't set up for the very toughest
jobs, to be sure."

" I '11 try," answered Faith, submissively, with quivering
lip, "only if there should be anything that I could do, —
to sit up, or anything, — you '11 let me, won't you ? "

" Of course I will," replied the nurse, cheerily. " I
shan't be squeamish about asking when there 's anything I
really want done."

Faith moved toward the door that opened to her father's
room. It was ajar. She pushed it gently open, and paused.
" I may go in, may n't I, nurse, just for a goxl-night look ? "

The sick man heard her voice, though he did not catch
her words.

' " Come in, Faithie," said he, with one of his half-gleams
of consciousness, " I '11 see you, daughter, as long as I live."

80 FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD.

Faith's heart nearly broke at that, and she came, tea?
fully and silently, to the bed side, and laid her little, cooi
hand on her father's fevered one, and looked down on his
face, worn, and suffering, and flushed, — and thought within
herself, — it was a prayer and vow unspoken, — "Oh, it
God will only let him live, I will Jind something that I can
do for him ! "

And then she lifted the linen cloth that was laid over his
forehead, and dipped it afresh in the bowl of ice-water be
side the bed, and put it gently back, and just kissed his
nair softly, and went out into her own room.

Three nights — three days — more, the fever raged.
And on the fourth night after, Faith and her mother knew,
by the scrupulous care with which the doctor gave minute
directions for the few hours to come, and the resolute way
in which Miss Sampson declared that "whoever else had a
mind to watch, she should sit up till morning this time,"
that the critical point was reached ; that these dark, silent
moments that would flit by so fast, were to spell, as they
passed by, the sentence of life or death.

And so the midnight settled down upon the street and
city, crowded full of human thought, and hope, and fear,
but whose vital centre to them was all in that one, dim
chamber.

Faith would not be put by. Her mother sat on one side
the bed, while the nurse busied herself noiselessly, or waited,
motionless, upon the other. Down by the fireside, on a low
stool, with her head on the cushion of an easy-chair, leaned
the young girl, — her heart full, and every nerve strained
with emotion and suspense.

She will never know, precisely, how those hours went on.
Sb.3 can remember the low breathing from the bed, and

FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD. 81

the now and then half-distinct utterance, as the brain wan
dered still in a dreamy, feverish maze ; and she never will
forget the precise color and pattern of the calico wrapper
that Nurse Sampson wore ; but she can recollect nothing
else of it all, except that, after a time, longer or shorter,
she glanced up, fearfully, as a strange hush seemed to have
come over the room, and met a look an J gesture of the nurse
that warned her down again, for her life.

And then, other hours, or minutes, she knows not which,
went by.

And then, a stir, — a feeble word, — a whisper from
Nurse Sampson, — a low " Thank G-od ! " from her mother.

The crisis was passed. Henderson Gartney lived.

CHAPTER X.

ROUGH ENDS:

" So others shall

Take patience, labor, to their heart and hand,
From thy hand and thy heart, and thy brave cheer,
And God's grace fructify through thee to all."

MRS. BROWJOICG.

" M. S. What does that stand for ? " said little Hendie,
reading the white letters painted on the black leather bottom
of nurse's carpet-bag. He got back, now, often, in the day
time, to his old nursery quarters, where his father liked to
hear his chatter and play, for a short time together, — though
he still slept, with Mahala, up stairs. " Does that mean
« Miss Sampson ? ' "

Faith glanced up from her stocking-mending, with a little
fun and a little curiosity in her eyes. She, too, had noted
the initials with a sort of wondering thought whether they
could possibly mean anything else. Whether the stiff, dry,
uncompromising woman whom she daily saw going method
ically through a round of hard and wearing duty, could
have ever had a Christian name to go by : could ever have
been a little Mary or Margaret. It seemed as if she must
have come into the world tall, and straight, and pinched,
and resolute, and gone to nursing sick people forthwith.

FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD. 83

That she could ever have lived a child life, with nothing to
do but play, — that was a thing hardly to be believed.

" What does ' M.' stand for? " repeated Hendie.

The nurse was " setting to rights " about the room. She
turned round at the question, from hanging a towel straight
over the stand, and looked a little amazed, as if she had
almost forgotten, herself. But it came out, with a quick
opening and shutting of the thin lips, like the snipping of
a pair of scissors, — " Mehitable."

That was not so wonderful. Faith could believe that.
But she knew it could never have been anything shorter or
softer.

Faith had been greatly drawn to this odd, efficient woman.
Beside that her skilful, untiring nursing had, humanly, been
the means of saving her father's life, which alone had
warmed her with an earnest gratitude that was restless to
prove itself, and that welled up in every glance and tono
she gave Miss Sampson, there were a certain respect and
interest that could not withhold themselves from one who
so evidently worked on with a great motive that dignified
her smallest acts. In whom self-abnegation was the under
lying principle of all daily doing.

Miss Sampson had staid on at the Gartneys', notwith
standing the doctor's prediction, and her usual habit. And,
in truth, her patient did not " get well too fast." She waa
needed now as really as ever, though the immediate danger
which had summoned her was past, and the fever had gone.
The months of overstrained effort and anxiety that had cul
minated in its violent attack were telling upon him now, in
the scarcely less perilous prostration that followed. And
Mrs. Gartney had quite given out since the excessive ten
sion of nerve and feeling had relaxed. She was almost ill

84 FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD.

enough to be regularly nursed herself. She alternated be
tween her bed in the dressing-room and an easy-chair oppo
site her husband's, at his fireside. Miss Sampson knew
when she was really wanted, whether the emergency were
more or less obvious She knew the mischief of a change
of hands at such a time. And so she staid on, though she
did sleep comfortably of a night, and had many an hour of
rest in the daytime, when Faith would come into the nur
sery with a book, or her work-basket, and constitute herself
her companion.

Miss Sampson was to her like a book to be read, whei^of
she turned but a leaf or so at a lime, as she had accidental
opportunity, yet whose every page rendered up a
strong, — above all, a most sound and healthy meaning.

She turned over a leaf, one day, in this wise.

" Miss Sampson, how came you, at first, to be a
nurse?"

The shadow of some old struggle seemed to cadie ovei
Miss Sampson's face, as she answered, briefly, —

" I wanted to find the very toughest sort of a job to do."

Faith looked up, surprised.

" But I heard you tell my father that you had been nurs
ing more than twenty years. You must have been quite a
young woman when you began. I wonder — " and here
Faith checked herself, lest her wondering should seem to
verge upon impertinence.

" You wonder why I was n't like most other young \wmcu,
I suppose. Why I did n't get married, perhaps, and have
folks of my own to take care of? Well, I aid n't ; and the
Lord gave me a pretty plain indication that lie uad n't laid
out that kind of a life for me. So then 1 j_st looked round
to find out what better He had for me U do. And 1 hii

FAITH GAUTNEY'S GIRLHOOD. 85

on the very work I wanted. A trade that it took all the
old Sampson grit to follow. I made up my mind, as the
doctor says, that somebody in the world had got to choose
drumsticks, and I might as well take hold of one."

" But don't you ever get tired of it all, and long for some-
hing to rest or amuse you ? "

" Amuse ! I could n't be amused, child. I 've been in too
much awful earnest ever to be much amused again. No, I
want to die in the harness. It 's hard work I want. I
couldn't have been tied down to a common, easy sort of life.
I want something to fight and grapple with ; and 1 'm
thankful there 's been a way opened for me to do good ac
cording to my nature. If I had n't had sickness and death
to battle against, I should have got into human quarrels,
maybe, just for the sake of feeling ferocious."

" And you always take the very worst and hardest cases.
Doctor Gracie says."

" What 's the use of taking a tough job if you don't face
the toughest part of it ? I don't want the comfortable end
of the business. Somebody 's got to nurse small pox, and
yellow fever, and raving-distracted people ; and I know the
Lord made me fit to do just that very work. There aint
many that He does make for it, but I 'm one. And if I
shirked, there 'd be a stitch dropped."

" Yellow fever ! where have you nursed that? "

"Do you suppose I didn't go to Norfolk? I've nursed
it, and I 've had it, and nursed it again. I 've been in the
cholera hospitals, too. I 'm seasoned to most everything."

" Do you think everybody ought to take the hardest thing
they can find, to do ? "

" Do you think everybody ought to eat drumsticks ? We'd
have to kill an unreasonable lot of fowls to let 'em ' No.

8

56 FAITH GARTNET'S GIRLHOOD.

The Lord portions out breast and wings, as well as legs. If
He puts anything into your plate, take it."

Doctor Gracie always had a word for the nurse, when he
came ; and, to do her justice, it was seldom but she had a
word to give him back.

" Well, Miss Sampson," said he gayly, one bright morn
ing, you 're as fresh as the day. What pulls down other
folks seems to set you up. I declare you 're as blooming as
— twenty-five.

" You — fib — like — sixty ! It 's no such thing ! And
if it was, I 'd ought to be ashamed of it."

" Prodigious! as your namesake, the Dominie, would say.
Don't tell me a woman is ever ashamed of looking young,
or handsome ! "

" Now, look here, Doctor !" said Miss Sampson, with her
firmest intonation, setting down a pitcher she had just brought
in, and facing round to do battle, — "I never was hand
some ; and I thank the Lord He 's given me enough to do
in the world to wear off my young looks long ago ! And
any woman ought to be ashamed that gets to be thirty and
upwards, to Bay nothing of forty-five, and keeps her baby
face on ! It 's a sign she aint been of much account, any
how "

" Oh, but there are always differences and exceptions,"
persisted the doctor, who liked nothing better than to draw
Miss Sampson out. " There are some faces that take till
thirty, at least, to bring out all their possibilities of good
looks and wear on, then, till fifty. I 've seen 'em. And
the owners were no drones or do-nothings, either. What do
you say to that?"

" I say there 's two ways of growing old. And growing
old aint always growing ugly. Somo folks grow old from

FAITH GARTNEY 'S GIRLHOOD. 87

the inside, out ; and some from the outside, in. There 's old
furniture, and there 's growing trees ! "

" And the trunk that is roughest below may branch out
greenest a- top ! " said the doctor.

But the conversation had got as nearly into poetry as was
possible with practical Miss Sampson, and she broke it off,
or brought it down, by saying, as she handed Mr. Gartney
his port-wine tonic, —

"It's lucky we touched on bark, sir, or you mightn't
have got your strengthener to-day ! "

The talk Faith heard now and then, in her walks from
home, or when some of " the girls " came in and called her
down into the parlor, — about pretty looks, and becoming
dresses, and who danced with who at the "German" last
night, and what a scrape Loolie Lloyd had got into with
mixing up and misdating her engagements at the class, and
the last new roll for the hair, — used to seem rather trivial
and aimless to her in these days !

Occasionally, when Mr. Gartney had what nurse called a
" good " day, he would begin to ask for some of his books
and papers, with a thought toward business ; and then Miss
Sampson would display her carpet-bag, and make a show of
picking up things to put in it ; " For," said she, " when
you get at your business, it '11 be high time for me to go
about mine."

" But only for half-an-hour, nurse ! I '11 give you that
mu^h leave of absence, and then we '11 have things back
again as they were before."

" I guess you will ! And further than they were be
fore. No, Mr. Gartney, you 've got to behave. I won't
have them vicious-looking accounts about, and it don't
eignify."

88 FAITH GARTNEF'S GIRLHOOD.

" If it don't, why not? " Put it ended in the accounts
and the carpet-bag disappearing together.

Until one morning, some three weeks from the beginning
of Mr. Gartney 's illness, when, after a few days' letting
alone the whole subject, he suddenly appealed to the
doctor.

"Doctor," said he, as that gentleman entered, " I must
have Braybrook up here this afternoon. I dropped things
just where I stood, you know. It 's time to take an obser
vation."

The doctor looked at his patient gravely. Apparently,
he saw that he must yield a point for the present.

" What must be, must, I suppose," he said. But he
added this, which startled Mrs. Gartney as she heard it,
and set her husband into an uneasy thinking, for an hour
after Doctor Gracie had gone.

" Can't you be content with simply picking up things,
and putting them by, for this year? What I ought to
tell you to do would be to send business to the right
about, and go off for an entire rest and change, for three
months, at least."

" You don't know what you 're talking about, doctor ! "

" Perhaps not, on one side of the subject. I feel pretty
certain on the other, however."

Mr. Gartney did not send for Braybrook that afternoon.
The next morning however he came, and the tabooed books
and papers were got out.

In another day or two, Miss Sampson did pack her car
pet-bag, and go back to her air-tight stove and solitary cups
>f tea. Her occupation in Hickory Street was gone.

Was this all the Gartneys were ever to have in common
her ? Were the lives that had touched, — had coincided

FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD. 83

for a little length, and gone together through a deep experi
ence, — to separate and be nothing to each othei henceforth,
among all the tangle and criss-cross of human destiny and
purpose ? He who brings together and divides, and never
without a meaning, knows. The lives had touched, — had
qualified each other.
s*

CHAPTER XL

CROSS CORNERS.

"O thou that plnest In the imprisonment of the Actual, and criest bit
terly to the Gods for a kingdom, wherein to rule and create, know this of
• truth, the thing thou seekest is already with thee, ' here or nowhere,'
oouldstthou only see ! "— CARLYLE.

" IT is of no use to talk about it," said Mr Gartney,
wearily. "If I live, — as long as I live, — I must dy
business. How else are you to get along ? "

" How shall we get along if you do not live ? " asked his
wife, in a low, anxious tone.

" My life 's insured," was all Mr. Gartney's answer, after
a minute's pause.

" Father ! " cried Faith, distressfully.

Faith had been taken more and more into counsel and
confidence with her parents since the time of the illness that
had brought them all so close together. And more and
more helpful she had grown, both in word and doing, since
Bhe had learned to look daily for the daily work set before
her, and to perform it conscientiously, even although it COD-
sisted only of little things. She still remembered with enthu
siasm Nurse Sampson and the " drumsticks," and managed
to piok up now and then one for herself. Small disagree-
abilities, to be sure, they wei 5, that she could find to take
upon herself; but she was leiruing to scorn the " comforta

FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD, 91

ble end of a business." She had taken in a lesson, — rather
God had sent her one, — by the way, that was to fit her for
future greater doing. Meantime she began to see, indis
tinctly, before her, the vision of a work that must be done
by some one, and the duty of it pressed hourly closer home
to herself. Her father's health had never been fully re
established. He had begun to use his strength before, and
faster than, it came. There was danger, — it needed no
Doctor Gracie, even, to tell them so, — of grave disease, if
this went on. And still, whenever urged, his answer was
the same. " What would become of his family without his
business?"

Faith turned these things over and over in her mind.

" Father," said she, after a while, — the conversation ha^-
ing been dropped at the old conclusion, and nobody appea*
ing to have anything more to say, — "I don't know anything
about business ; but I wish you 'd tell me how much money
you 've got ! "

Her father laughed ; a sad sort of laugh though, that
was not so much amusement as tenderness and pity. Then,
as if the whole thing were a mere joke, yet with a shade
upon his face that betrayed there was far too much truth
under the jest, after all, he took out his portmonnaie and
told her to look and see.

" You know I don't mean that, father ! How much in the
bank, and everywhere ? "

" Precious little in the bank, now, Faithie. Enough to
keep house with for a year, nearly, perhaps. But if I were
to take it and go off and spend it in travelling, you can un
derstand that the housekeeping would fall short, can't you ? "

Faith looked horrified. She was bringing down her vague
ideas of money that came from somewhere, through hei

f»1 FAITH GARTNEY 'S GIRLHOOD.

father's pocket, as water comes from Lake KinsittewinX by
the turning of a faucet, to the narrow point of actuality

" But that is n't all, I know ! I 've heard you talk about
railroad dividends, and such things."

" Oh ! what does the Western Road pay this time ? '* asked
' his wife.

" I 've had to sell out my stock there," replied Mr. Gart-
ney, with a sigh.

"And where's the money, father?" asked Faith, not
carious, but bold with her good intent

" Gone to pay debts, child," was the answer.

Mrs. Gartney said nothing, but she looked very grave.
Her husband surmised, perhaps, that she would go on to
imagine worse than had really happened, and so added,
presently, —

"I huvn't been obliged to sell all my railroad stocks,
wifey. I held on to some. There 's the New York Central
all safe ; and the Michigan Central, too. That would n't
have sold so well, to be sure, just when I was wanting the
money ; but things are looking better, now."

" Father," said Faithie, with her most coaxing little smile,
" please just take this bit of paper and pencil, and set down
these stocks and things, will you ? "

The little smile worked its way ; and half in idleness,
half in acquiescence, Mr. Gartney took the pencil and noted
down a short list of items.

" It's very littlo, Faith, you see." They ran thus:
New York Central Railroad . 20 shares.

Michigan Central " . 15 "

Kinnicutt Branch " . . 10 "
Mishaumok Insurance Co. . 15 "

Merchants Bank 30 M

FAITH GARTNEr'S GIRLHOOD. 93

" How much are the shares worth, father ? " asked per-
eistent Faith.

"Well — at this moment — so — and so — " noting down
against each the cash valuation.

" And now, father, please put down how much you get a
year in dividends."

" Not always the same, little busybody."

Nevertheless he noted down the average sums. And the
total was between six and seven hundred dollars.

"But that is'nt all. You 've got other things. Why.
there 's the house at Cross Corners."

"Yes, but I can't let it, you know."

" What used you to get for it ? "

" Two hundred and fifty. For house and land."

" And you own this house, too, father? "

" Yes. This is your mother's."

" How much rent would this bring?"

Mr. Gartney turned round and looked at his daughter.
He began to see there was a meaning in her questions. And
as he caught her eye, he read, or discerned without fully
reading, a certain eager kindling there.

" Why, what has come over you, Faithie, to set you cate
chising so ? "

Faith laughed.

" Just answer this, please, and I won't ask a single ques
tion more to-night."

" About the rent ? Why, this house ought to bring six
hundred, certainly. And now, if the court will permit, L '11
read the news."

Mr. Gartney took up the evening paper, and Faith sat
thinking.

When she went up to her own room, she carried thither
the bit of paper, with its calculation.

94 FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD.

About a week after this, in the latter half of one of those
spring days that come with a warm breath to tell that sum
mer is glowing somewhere, and that her face is northward.
Aunt Faith Henderson came out upon the low, vine-latticed
stoop of her house in Kinnicutt There is a story to tell of
that house, innocent of paint, that has darkened and dark
ened in the sun? and wins, and yet stood solidly, with infre
quent repairs of shingle and clapboard, for more than two
hundred years. But it cannot be told at this moment, for 1
must tell you of another thing — Aunt Henderson's surprise.

She stood at the westerly end of this porch, looking down
and off toward the sunset, that rolled its golden waves over
the low, distant hills, till they seemed to fill up the broad
meadow-space that intervened with a molten glory, sublimat
ing overhead into a glittering mist that melted out at last
into the pure depth of blue.

Aunt Henderson's thoughts had wandered off as far, or
farther, seemingly, than her eyes.

Up the little foot-path fro.m the road, — across the bit of
greensward that lay between it and the stoop, — came a
quick, noiseless step, and there was a touch, presently, on
the old lady's arm.

Faith Gartney stood beside her, in trim straw bonnet and
shawl, with a black leather bag upon her arm.

" Auntie ! I 've come to make you a tiny little visit! Till
day after to-morrow."

Aunt Henderson wheeled round suddenly at the touch, —
Bet her shoulders back against the house, which fortunately
stood in the way, or she might have described such an arc
of a circle as is included between two radii at right angles
to each other and five feet six-and-a-half inches in length ;
brought her thoughts home again from their far outstretch.

FAITH GAItTNEY'S GIRLHOOD. 95

and concentrated them as best sLe might on the pretty figure
immediately before her.

" Faith Gartney ! However came you here ? And in such
a fashion, too, without a word of warning, like — an angel
from heaven ! " Concluding her sentence with a simile some
what unexpected to herself, growing out of those mingled
impressions of the resplendent sky and Faithie's fair,
smiling face.

" I came up in the cars, auntie ! I felt just like it ! Will
you keep me?"

"Glory! Glory McWhirk!" Like the good Vicar of
Wakefield, Aunt Henderson liked often to give the whole
name ; and calling, she disappeared round the corner of the
stoop, without ever a word of more assured welcome.

" Put on the teapc t again, and make a slice of toast." The
good lady's voice, going on with farther directions, was lost
in the intricate threading of the inner maze of the singular
old dwelling, and Faith followed her as far as the first apart
ment, where she set down her bag and removed her bonnet.

It was a quaint, dim room, overbrowed and gloomed by
the roofed projection of the stoop ; low-ceiled, high-wain
scoted and panelled. All in oak, of the natural color,
deepened and glossed by time and wear. The heavy beams
that supported the floor above were undisguised, and left
the ceiling in panels also, as it were, between. In these
highest places, a man six feet tall could hardly have stood
without bending. He certainly would not, whether he could
or no. Even Aunt Faith, with her five feet, six-and-a-half,
dropped a little of her dignity, habitually, when she entered.
But then, as she said, " A hen always bobs her head when
ehe comes in at a barn-door." Between the windows stood
an old, old-fashioned secretary, that filled up from floor to

/
06 FAITH GARTNEF'S GIRLHOOD.

ceiling ; and over the fireplace a mirror of equally antique
date tilted forward from the wall. Opposite the secretary,
a plain mahogany table ; and eight high-backed, claw-footed
chairs ranged stiffly around the room.

Aunt Henderson was proud of her old ways, her old fur
niture, and her house, that was older than all.

Some far back ancestor and early settler had built it, —
the beginning of it, — before Kinnicutt had even become a
town; and — rare exception to the changes elsewhere —
generation after generation of the same name and line had
inhabited it until now. Aunt Faith, exultingly, told each
curious visitor that it had been built precisely two hundred
and ten years. Out in the back kitchen, or lean-to, was hung
to a rafter the identical gun with which the " old settler" had
ranged the forest that stretched then from the very door ;
and higher up, across a frame contrived for it, was the
" wooden saddle " fabricated for the back of the placid, slow-
moving ox, in the time when horses were as yet rare in the
new country, and used with pillions, to transport I can't
definitely say how many of the family to " meeting."

Between these, — the best room and the out-kitchen, —
the labyrinth of sitting-room, bedrooms, kitchen proper,
milk-room and pantry, partitioned off, or added on, many of
them since the primary date of the main structure, would
defy the pencil of modern architect, and must be left in
their dim confusion to the imagination.

In" one of these irregularly clustered apartments that
opened out on different aspects, unexpectedly, from their
conglomerant centre, Faith sat, some fifteen minutes after
her entrance into the house, at a little round table between
two corner windows that looked northwest and southwest,
and together took in the full radiance of the evening sky.

FAITH GARTNETS GIRLHOOD. 9?

Opposite sat her aunt, taking care of lier as regarded tea,
toast, wud plain country loaf-cake, and watching somewhat
curiously, also, her face.

Faith's £we had changed a little since Aunt Henderson
Lad ssen her lart. It was not the careless girl's face she
had known. Thv.re was a thought in it now. A thought
that seemed to go quixo out from, and forget the self from
which it came.

Aunt Henderson woaclered greatly what sudden whim or
inward purpose had brought her grand-niece hither.

When Faith absolutely declined any more tea or cake,
Miss Henderson's tap on the vable-leaf brought in Glory
JVIcWhirk.

A tall, well-grown girl of eighteen was Glory, now, —
quite another Glory than had lightened, long ago, the dull
/ittle house in Budd Street, and iJilcd it with her bright,
untutored dreams. The luminous tresses had had their
way since then ; that is, with certain comfortable bounds
prescribed ; and rippled themselves Iwtckward from a clear,
contented tace, into the net that held them tidily, but had
its — meshes — lull to do it, after a s^yle of their own, that
in these later days Fashion and Art Lave striven hopelessly
to achieve with crimping-pins and — ' rats ! "

I said Glory's face was contented , yet it was not with
the utter content of a little soul that looks not beyond the
moment. There was a yearning and a dreaminess deep in
her eyes, when you looked far enougn to find it, that told,
even yet, of unfulfilment ; of something unconsciously
waited foi still, and sure to come. It was one of those
faces that, find them where you may, carry God's prophecy
in them.

Faith looked up, and remembered the poor office-girl of

9

98 FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD.

three years since, half clad and hopeless, with a secret
amaze at what " Aunt Faith had made of her."

" You may give me some water, Glory," said Miss Hen
derson.

Glory brought the pitcher, and poured into the tumbler,
and gazed at Faith's pretty face, and the dark- brown glossy
rolls that framed it, until the water fairly ran over upon the
table.

" There ! there ! Why, Glory, what are you thinking
of? " cried Miss Henderson.

Glory was thinking her old thoughts, — wakened alwayd
by all that was beautiful and beyond.

She came suddenly to herself, however, and darted off,
with her face as bright a crimson as her hair was golden ;
flashing up so, as she did most easily, into as veritable a
Glory as ever was. Never had baby been more aptly 01
prophetically named.

Coming back, towel in hand, to stop the freshet she had
set flowing, she dared not give another glance across the
table ; but went busily and deftly to work, clearing it of ail
that should be cleared, that she might make her shy way
off again before she should be betrayed into other unwonted
blundering.

"And now, Faith Gartney, tell me all about it! What
sent you here?"

" Nothing. Nobody. I came, aunt I wanted to set
the place, and you."

The rough eyebrows were bent keenly across the table.

"Hum!" breathed Aunt Henderson, a little doubtful,
and very much puzzled.

Then Faith asked the news in Kinnicutt, and told of home
matters, what people usually tell, and consider that they

FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHt OD. 9L

have given account of themselves. Aunt Henderson's quer •
tions were few. She cared little for outside commonplace,
and there was small interior sympathy between her ideas
and those that governed the usual course of affairs in Hick
ory Street Fond of her nephew and his family, after her
fashion, notwithstanding Faith's old rebellion, and all other
differences, she certainly was ; but they went their way, and
she hers. She felt pretty sure theirs would sooner or later
come to a turning ; and when that should happen, whether
she should meet them round the corner, or not, would de
pend. Her path would need to bend a little, and theirs to
make a pretty sharp angle, first.

But here was Faith cutting across lota to come to her !
Aunt Henderson put away her loaf-cake in the cupboard,
set back her chair against the wall in its invariable position
of disuse, and departed to the milk-room an4 kitchen for
her evening duty and oversight.

Glory's hands were busy in the bread-bowl, and her brain
kneading its secret thoughts that no one knew or inter
meddled with.

Faith sat at the open window of the little tea-room, and
watched the young moon's golden horn go down behind the
earth-rim among the purple, like a flamy flower bud floating
over, and so lost.

And the three lives gathered in to themselves, separately,
whatsoever the hour brought to each.

At nine o'clock Aunt Faith came in, took down the great
leather-bound Bible from the corner shelf, and laid it on the
table. Glory appeared, and seated herself beside the door.

For a few moments, the three lives met in the One Great
Life that overarches and includes humanity. Miss Hender
son read from the sixth chapter of St. John.

They were fed with the five thousand.

CHAPTER XII.

A RECONNOISSANCE.

' Then said his Lordship, «Well, God mend all!' 'Nay, Donald, we
must help Him to mend it,' ssiid the other." — Quoted by CARLTLE.

" Oh, leave these jargons, and go your way straight to God's work In
simplicity and singleness of heart! "—Miss NIGHTINGALE.

" AUNTIE," said Faith, next morning, when, after some
exploring, she had discovered Miss Henderson in a little
room, the very counterpart of the one she had had her tea
in the night before, only that this opened to the southeast,
and hailed the morning sun as that had taken in its set
ting, — " Auntie, will you go over with me to the Cross
Corners house, after breakfast ? It 's empty, is n't it ? "

"Yes, it's empty. But it's no great show of a house.
What do you want to see it for ? "

" Why, it used to be so pretty, there. I 'd like just to
go into it Have you heard of anybody wanting it yet ? "

"No; and I guess nobody's likely to, for one while.
Folks don't make many changes, out here."

"What a "bright little breakfast-room this is, auntie!
A nd how grand you are to have a room for every meal ! "

"It aint for the grandeur of it. But I always did like
to follow the sun round. For the most part of the year, at
eny rate. And this is just as near the kitchen as the other

FAITH GARTNET'S GIRLHOOD. 101

Besides, I kind of hate to shut up any of the rooms, alto
gether. They were all wanted, once ; and now I 'EC all
alone in 'em."

For Miss Henderson, this was a great opening of the
heart But she did n't go on to say that the little west room,
had been her young brother's, who long ago, when he was
just ready for his Master's work in this world, had been
called up higher ; and that her evening rest was sweeter,
and her evening reading holier for being holden there ; or
that here, in the sunny morning hours, her life seemed
almost to roll back its load of many years, and to set her
down beside her mother's knee, and beneath her mother's
gentle tutelage, once more; that on the little " light- stand "
in the corner by the fireplace stood the self-same basket that
had been her mother's then, — just where she had kept it,
too, when it was running over with little frocks and stock
ings that were always waiting finishing or mending, — and
now held only the plain gray knitting-work and the bit of
sewing that Aunt Faith might have in hand.

A small, square table stood now in the middle of the floor,
with a fresh brown linen breakfast-cloth upon it ; and Glory,
neat and fresh, also, with her brown spotted calico dress
*nd apron of the same, came in smiling like a very goddess
of peace and plenty, with the steaming coffee-pot in one
hand, and the plate of fine, white rolls in the other. The
yellow print of butter and some rounds from a brown loaf
were already on the table. Glory brought in, presently,
the last addition to the meal, — six eggs, laid yesterday,
the water of their boiling just dried off, and modestly took
her own seat at the lower end of the board,

Aunt Faith, living alone, kept to the kindly old country

fashion of admitting her handmaid to the table with herse]£
9*

102 FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD.

"Why not?" she would say. "In the first place, why
should we keep the table about, half an hour longer than
we need ? And I suppose hot cakes and coffee are as much
nicer than cold, for one body as another. Then where 'e
the sense ? We take Bible-meat together. Must we be
more dainty about ' meat that perisheth ? " So her argu
ment climbed up from its lower reason to its climax.

Glory had little of the Irish now about her but her name.
And all that she retained visibly of the Eoman faith she
had been born to, was her little rosary of colored shells,
strung as beads, that had been blessed by the Pope.

Miss Henderson had trained and fed her in her own ways,
and with such food as che partook herself, physically and
spiritually. Glory sat, every Sunday, in the corner pew of
the village church, by her mistress's side. And this church-
going being nearly all that she had ever had, she took in
the nutriment that was given her, to a soul that recognized
it, and never troubled itself with questions as to one truth
differing from another, or no. Indeed, no single form or
theory could have contained the " credo " of her simple, yet
complex, thought The old Catholic reverence clung about
uer still, that had come with her all the way from her infancy,
when her mother and grandmother had taught her the pray
ers of their Church ; and across the long interval of igno
rance and neglect flung a sort of cathedral light over what
the felt was holy now.

Rescued from her dim and servile city life, — brought out
into the light and beauty she had mutely longed for, — feel
ing care and kindliness about her for the long-time harshness
and oppression she had borne, — she was like a spirit newly
entered into heaven, that needs no priestly ministration and
more. Every breath drew in a life and teaching purer thac
human words.

x FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD. 103

And then the words she did hear were Divine. Miss
Henderson did no preaching, — scarcely any lip-teaching,
however brief. She broke the bread of life God gave her,
as she cut her daily loaf and shared it, — letting each soul,
God helping, digest it for itself.

Glory got hold of some old theology, too, that she could
but fragmentarily understand ; but that mingled itself, —
as all we gather does mingle, not uselessly, — with her
growth. She found old books among Miss Henderson's
stores, that she read and mused on. She trembled at the
warnings, and reposed in the holy comforts of Doddridge's
" Eise and Progress," and Baxter's " Saint's Best." She
travclhd to the Holy City, above all, with Bunyan's Pil
grim. And then, Sunday after Sunday, she heard the
simple Christian preaching of an old and simple Christian
man. Not terrible, — but earnest ; not mystical, — but
high ; not lax, — but liberal ; and this fused and tempered
all.

So " things had happened " for Glory. So God had cared
for this, his child. So, according to His own "Will, — not
any human plan or forcing, — she grew.

Aunt Faith washed up the breakfast cups, dusted and
" set to rights " in the rooms where, to the young Faith's
eyes, there seemed such order already as could not be righted,
made up a nice little pudding for dinner, and then, taking
down her shawl and silk hood, and putting on her overshoes,
announced herself ready for Cross Corners.

" Though it 's all cross corners to me, child, sure enough.
I suppose it 's none of my business, but I can't think what
you 're up to."

" Not up to any great height, yet, auntie. But I 'ra
growing," said Faith, merrily, and with meaning somewhat
beyond the letter.

104 FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD.

They went out at the back door, which opened on a little
foot-path down the sudden green slope behind, and stretched
across the field, diagonally, to a bar-place and stile at the
opposite corner. Here the roads from five different direc
tions met and crossed, which gave the locality its name.

Opposite the stile at which they came out, across the shady
lane that wound down from the Old Koad whereon Miss
Henderson's mansion faced, a gateway in a white paling
that ran round and fenced in a grassy door-yard, overhung
with pendent branches of elms and stouter canopy of chest
nuts, let them in upon the little " Cross Corners Farm."

The house stood but a few paces back, the long, sweep
ing tips of the elm-boughs kissing its roof; and behind it
swelled a ridge of land so wooded over with miscellaneous
growth of tree and shrub, that it was like the entrance to a
forest. The uprising of the ground filled in with its dark
coloring, and gave an effect of density, beside cutting off all
view between or beyond the trees ; so that, although a few
moments' walk would carry one over and through it all into
the cleared and cultivated fields beyond, the illusion was
utter, and very charming.

Faith felt it so, even in this early spring-time, before the
grass was fully green, or the branches draped in all their
summer breadth and beauty.

"Oh, Aunt Faith! It's just as lovely as ever! I re
member that path up the hill, among the trees, so well !
When I was a little bit of a girl, and nurse and I came out
to stay with you. I had my "fairy house" there. I'd
like to go over this minute, only that we shan't have time.
How shall we get in? Where is the key?

" It's in my pocket. But it mystifies me, what you want
there."

FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD. 105

" I want to look out of all the windows, auntie, to begin
with."

Aunt Faith's mystification was not lessened.

The front door opened on a small, square hall, with doors
fcc right and left. Opposite, went up the narrow staircase.
Narrow, and steep, but straight ; lighted by a window from
the landing at its head ; and railed at either side above, to
give passage to the chambers at the front.

The room on the left, spite of the bare floor and fireless
hearth, was warm with the spring sunshine that came pour
ing in at the south windows. Beyond this, embracing the
corner of the house rectangularly, projected an equally
sunny and cheery kitchen ; at the right of which, commu
nicating with both apartments, was divided off a tiny tca-
and-breakfast-room. So Faith mentally decided it, though
it had very likely been a bedroom. This looked northerly,
however, and would seem pleasanter, doubtless, in July ;
though the high ridge that trended north and easterly be
hind, sheltered the whole house in comparative comfort,
even from December gales.

From the entrance hall at the right opened a room larger
than either of the others, — so large that the floor above
afforded two bedrooms over it, — and having, beside ita
windows south and east, a door in the farther corner beyond
the chimney, that gave out directly upon the grassy slope,
and looked up the path among the trees that crossed the
ridge.

Faith drew the bolt and opened it, expecting to find a
closet or a passage somewhither. She fairly started back
with surprise and delight. And then seated herself plump
upon the threshold, with her feet on the flat flag-stone before
it. and went into a midsummer dream.

lOo1 FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD.

11 Oh, auntie ! " she cried, at her waking, presently, " was
ever anything so perfect ? To think of being let out so 1
Eight from a regular, proper parlor, into the woods ! "

" Do you mean to go up stairs? " inquired Miss Hender
son, with a vague amaze in her look that seemed to question
whether her niece had not possibly been " let out" from her
" regular and proper " wits !

Whereupon Faith scrambled up from her seat upon the
sill, and hurried off to investigate and explore above.

Miss Henderson closed the door, pushed the bolt, and
followed quietly after.

It was a funny little pantomime that Faith enacted then,
for the further bewilderment of the staid old lady.

Darting from one chamber to another, with an inexpli
cable look of business and consideration in her face, that
contrasted comically with her quick movements and her
general air of glee, she would take her stand in the middle
of each one in turn, and wheeling round to get a swift
panoramic view of outlook and capabilities, would end by a
succession of mysterious and apparently satisfied little nods,
as if at each pause some point of plan or arrangement had
settled itself in her mind.

"Aunt Faith!" cried she, suddenly, as she came out
upon the landing when she had peeped into the last corner,
and found Miss Henderson on the point of making her
descent, — " what sort of a thing do you think it would be
for us to come here and live ? "

Aunt Faith sat down now as suddenly, in her turn, on
the stair-head. Recovering, so, from her momentary and
utter astonishment, and taking in, during that instant of
repose, the full drift of the question propounded, she rose
from her involuntarily assumed position, and continued her

FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD. 107

way down, — answering, without so much as turning her
head, — "It would be just the most sensible thing that
Henderson G-artney ever did in his life ! "

What made Faithie a bit sober, all at once, when the
key was turned, and they passed on, out under the elms,
into the lane again ?

Did you ever project a very wise and important scheme,
that involved a little self-sacrifice, which, by a determined
looking at the bright side of the subject, you had managed
tolerably to ignore ; and then, by the instant and unhesi
tating acquiescence of some one to whose judgment you
submitted it, find yourself suddenly wheeled about in your
own mind to the stand-point whence you discerned only the
difficulty again?

" There 's one thing, Aunt Faith," said she, as they
slowly walked up the field-path; "I couldn't go to school
any more."

Faith had discontinued her regular attendance since the
recommencement for the year, but had gone in for a few
hours on " French and German days."

"There's another thing," said Aunt Faith. "I don't
believe your father can afford to send you any more. You 're
eighteen, aint you? "

" I shall be, this summer."

" Time for you to leave off school. Bring your books
and things along with you. You '11 have chance enough to
study."

Faith had n't thought much of herself before. But when
she found her aunt did n't apparently think of her at all,
she began to realize keenly all that she must silently give
up.

"But it's a good deal of help, auntie, to study with

108 FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD.

other people. And then — we should n't have any society
out here. I don't mean for the sake of parties, and going
about. But for the improvement of it. I should n't like
to be shut out from cultivated people."

"Faith Gartney!" exclaimed Miss Henderson, facing
about in the narrow footway, "don't you go to being fine
and transcendental ! If there 's one word I despise more
than another, in the way folks use it now-a-days, — it 's
' Culture ! ' As if God did n't know how to make soula
grow ! You just take root where He puts you, and go to
work, and live! He'll take care of the cultivating! If
He means you to turn out a rose, or an oak-tree, you *11
come to it. And pig- weed 's pig- weed, no matter where it
starts up ! "

" Aunt Faith ! " replied the child, humbly and earnestly,
" I believe that 's true ! And I believe I want the country
to grow in! But the thing will be," she added, a little
doubtfully, " to persuade father."

" Don't he want to come, then ? Whose plan is it, pray ? "
asked Miss Henderson, stopping short again, just as she had
resumed her walk, in a fresh surprise.

" Nobody's but mine, yet, auntie ! I have n't asked him,
but I thought I 'd come and look."

Miss Henderson took her by the arm, and looked stead
fastly in her dark, earnest eyes.

" You 're something, sure enough ! " said she, with a
sharp tenderness.

Faith did n't know precisely what she meant, except that
she seemed to mean approval. And at the one word of
appreciation, all difficulty and self-sacrifice vanished out of
her sight, and everything brightened to her thought, again,
till her thought brightened out into a smile.

tAlTR GARTNET'S GIRLHOOD. 109

" What a sky-full of lovely white clouds ! " she said,
looking up to the pure, fleecy folds that were flitting over
the blue. " We can't see that in Mishaumok ! "

" She's just heavenly!" said Glory to herself, standing

t the back door, and gazing with a rapturous admiration

t Faith's upturned face. "And the dinner's all reauy,

and I 'm thankful, and more, that the custard 'a baked so

beautiful!"

CHAPTEK Xlli.

DEVELOPMENT.

" Sits the wind in that comer ? "

MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING.

" For courage mounteth with occasion."

KING JOHN.

THE lassitude that comes with spring had told upon Mr.
Gartney. He had dyspepsia, too ; and now and then came
home early from the counting-room with a headache that
sent him to his bed. Dr. Gracie dropped in, friendly- wise,
of an evening, — said little that was strictly professional,
— but held his hand a second longer, perhaps, than he
would have done for a mere greeting, and looked rather
Bcrutinizingly at him when Mr. Gartney 's eyes were turned
another way. Frequently he made some slight suggestion
of a journey, or other summer change.

" You must urge it, if you can, Mrs. Gartney," he said,
privately, to the wife. " I don't quite like his looks. Get
him away from business, at almost any sacrifice," he camo
to add, at last.

" At every sacrifice ? " asked Mrs. Gartney, anxious and
perplexed. " Business is nearly all, you know."

"Life is more, — reason is more," answered the doctor,
gravely.

FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD. Ill

And the wife went about her daily task with a secret
heaviness at her heart.

"Father," said Faith, one evening, after she had read to
him the paper while he lay resting upon the sofa, " if you
had money enough to live on, how long would it take yow
to wind up your business ? "

" It 's pretty nearly wound up now ! But what 's the
use of asking such a question ? " answered her father,
turning his head away, somewhat fretfully.

"Because," said Faith, timidly, "I 've got a little plan
in my head, if you '11 only listen to it."

A pause. Faith hardly knew whether to venture on, or
not

Presently the head came round again, and the eyes met
hers, with a look that was a little surprised, yet wistful
and kindly, also.

" Well, Faithie, I '11 listen. What is it ? "

And then Faith spoke it all out, at once.

" That you should give up all your business, father, and
let this house, and go to Cross Corners, and live at the
farm."

Mr. Gartney started to his elbow. But a sudden pain
that leaped in his temples sent him back again. For a
minute or so, he did not speak at all. Then he said, —

" Do you know what you are talking of, daughter ? "

" Yes, father ; I 've been thinking it over a good while,
— since the night we wrote down these things."

And she drew from her pocket the memorandum of stocks
and dividends.

" You see you have six hundred and fifty dollars a year
from these, and this house would be six hundred more, and
mother says she can manage on that, in the country, if 1
will holp her."

112 FAITH GARTNEY 'S GIRLHOOD.

A simple wording of a simple conclusion. But it told a
great deal.

Mr. Gartney shaded his eyes with his hand. Not wholly,
perhaps, to shield them from the light

" You 're a good girl, Faithie," said he, presently ; and
there was assuredly a little tremble in his voice.

" And so, you and your mother have talked it over, to
gether?"

" Yes ; often, lately. And she said I had better ask you
myself, if I wished it. She is perfectly willing. She thinka
it would be good."

"Faithie," said her father, "you make me feel, more
than ever, how much I ought to do for you ! "

"You ought to get well and strong, father, — thai is
all ! " replied Faith, with a quiver in her own voice, this
time.

Mr. Gartney sighed.

" I 'm no more than a mere useless block of wood ! " said
ho, despondingly.

" We shall just have to set you up, and make an idol of
you, then ! " cried Faith, cheerily, with tears on her eye
lashes, that she winked off, and forbade to be followed.

There had been a ring at the bell while they weie
speaking ; and now Mrs. Gartney entered, followed by Dr.
Gracie.

" "Well, Miss Faith," said the doctor, after the usual
greetings, and a prolonged look at Mr. Gartney 's flushed
face, and an injunction to him, as he was rising, to keep
quiet, — " what have you done to your father, to-night ? "

" I've been reading the paper," answered Faith, quietly,
" and talking a little."

" Mother ! " said Mr. Gartney, catching his wife's hand,

FAITH GARTNEY 'S GIRLHOOD. 113

as she came round to find a seat near him, " are you really
in the plot, too?"

" I 'm glad there is a plot," said the doctor, quickly,
glancing round with a keen inquiry. " It 's time ! "

" Wait till you hear it," said Mr. Gartney. " Are you
in a hurry to lose your patient ? "

" Depends upon how ! " replied the doctor, touching the
truth in a jest.

" This is how. Here 's a little jade who has the conceit
and audacity to propose to me to wind up my business, (as if
she understood the whole process !) and let my house, and go
to my farm at Cross Corners. What do you think of that ? "

" I think it would be the most sensible thing you ever
did in your life ! "

" Just exactly what Aunt Henderson said ! " cried Faith,
exultant.

" Aunt Faith, too ! The conspiracy thickens ! How
long has all this been discussing?" continued Mr. Gart
ney, fairly roused, and springing, despite the doctor's re
quest, to a sitting position, throwing off, as he did so, the
Affghan Faith had laid over his feet.

" There has n't been much discussion," said Faith.
" Only when I went out to Kinnicutt I got auntie to show
me the house ; and I asked her how she thought it would
be if we were to do such a thing, and she said just what
Dr. Gracie has said now. And, father," — she continued,
— "you don't know how beautiful it is there ! "

" So you really want to go ? and it is n't drumsticks ? "
queried the doctor, turning round to Faith.

" Some drumsticks are very nice," said Faith.

" Gartney ! " said Dr. Gracie, "you 'd better mind what

this girl of yours says. She 's worth attending to,"
10*

114 FAITH GARTNET'S GIRLHOOD.

The wedge had been entered, and Faith's hand had
driven it.

The plan was taken into consideration. Of course, such
a change could not be made without some pondering ; but
when almost the continual thought of a family is concen
trated upon a single subject, a good deal of pondering and
deciding can be done in three weeks. At the end of that
time an advertisement appeared in the leading Mishaumok
papers, offering the house in Hickory Street to be let ; and
Mrs. Gartney and Faith were busy uacking boxes to go to
Kinnicutt.

Only a passing shade had been flung on the project which
seemed to brighten into sunshine, otherwise, the more they
looked at it, when Mrs. Gartney suddenly said, after a long
" talking over," the second evening after the proposal had
been first broached, —

" But what will Saidie say ? "

Now Saidie, — whom before it has been unnecessary to
mention, — was Faith's elder sister, travelling at this
moment in Europe, with a wealthy elder sister of Mrs.
Gartney.

" I never thought of Saidie," cried Faith.

Saidie was pretty sure not to like Kinnicutt. A young
lady, educated at a fashionable New York school, — petted
by an aunt who found nobody else to pet, and who had
money enough to have petted a whole asylum of orphans, —
who had shone in London and Paris for two seasons past,
— was not exceedingly likely to discover all the possible
delights that Faith had done, under the elmb and chestnuts
at Cross Corners.

But, after all, this could make no practical difference.

" She would n't like Hickory Street any better,'1' said

FAITH GARTNERS GIRLHOOD. 115

Faith, "if we couldn't have parties or new furniture any
more. And she 's only a visitor, at the best. Aunt Ether-
ege will be sure to have her in New York, or travelling
about, ten months out of twelve. She can come to us in
June and October. I guess she '11 like strawberries and
cream, and — whatever comes at the other season, besides
red leaves."

Now this was kind, sisterly consideration of Faith, how
ever little so it seems, set down. It was very certain that,
no more acceptable provision could be made for Saidie
G-artney in the family plan, than to leave her out, except
where the strawberries and cream were concerned. In re
turn, she wrote gay, entertaining letters home to her mother
and young sister, and sent pretty French, or Florentine, or
Roman ornaments for them to wear. Some persons are con
tent to go through life with such exchange of sympathies
as this.

By-and-by, Faith being in her own room, took out from
her letter-box the last missive from abroad. There was
something in this which vexed Faith, and yet stirred her a
little, obscurely, aside from the mere vexation.

All things are fair in love, war, and — story-books ! So,
though she would never have shown the words to you or
me, we will peep over her shoulder, and share them, " en
rapport"

" And Paul Rushleigh, it seems, is as much as ever in
Hickory Street ! Well — my little Faithie might make a
far worse ' parti ' than that ! Tell papa I think he may be
satisfied there ! "

Faith would have cut off her little finger, rather than
have had her father dream that such a thing had been put
into her head ! But unfortunately it was there, now, ani

116 FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD.

could not be helped. She could only, — sitting there in
her chamber window with the blood tingling to the hair
upon her temples, as if from every neighboring window of
the clustering houses about her, eyes could overlook and
read what she was reading now, — " wish that Saidie would
not write such things as that ! " And then wonder how she
or her mother could possibly have said so much about their
young visitor as to have brought so unreserved a deduction
upon her from across the Atlantic.

For all that, it was one pleasant thing Faith would have
to lose in leaving Mishaumok. It was very agreeable to
have him dropping in, with his gay college gossip ; and to
dance the " German " with the nicest partner in the Mon
day class ; and to carry the flowers he so often sent her.
Had she done things greater than she knew in shutting her
eyes resolutely to all her city associations and enjoyments,
and urging, for her father's sake, this exodus into the
desert ?

Only that means were actually wanting to continue on
as they were, and that health must at any rate be first
striven for as a condition to the future enlargement of
means, her father and mother, in their thought for what
their child hardly considered for herself, would surely have
been more diificult to persuade. They hoped that a sum
mer's rest might enable Mr. Gartney to undertake again
some sort of lucrative business, after business should have
revived from its present prostration ; and that a year or
two, perhaps, of economizing in the country, might make it
possible for them to return, if they choss, to the house in
Hickory Street.

There were leave-takings to be gone through, — question*
to be answered, and reasons to be given ; for Mrs. Gartney,

FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD. 117

the polite wishes of her visiting friends that " Mr. Gartney's
health might allow them to return to the city in the win
ter," with the wonder, unexpressed, whether this were to
be a final break-down of the family, or not ; and for Faith,
the horror and extravagant lamentations of her young cote
rie, at her coming oceultation — or setting, rather, out of
- their sky.

Paul Eushleigh demanded eagerly if there were n't any
sober old minister out there, with whom he might be rusti
cated for his next college prank, which he would contrive
with nice adaptation for the express purpose.

Everybody promised to come as far as Kinnicutt " some
time" to see them; the good-byes were all said at last; the
city cook had departed, and a woman had been taken in
her place who "had no objections to the country;" and on
one of the last bright days of May they skimmed, steam-
sped, over the intervening country between the brick-and-
stone-encrusted hills of Mishaumok and the fair meadow
reaches of Kinnicutt ; and so disappeared out of the places
that had known them so long, and could yet, alas ! do so
exceedingly well without them.

By the first of June nobody in the great city remembered,
or remembered very seriously to regard, the little gap that
had been made in its midst

Do the cloven waters stand a-gapc for the little dipper-
full of drops that may be drawn out from among them ?

CHAPTEK XIV.

A DRIVE WITH THE DOCTOH.

"And what is so rare as a day in June ?

Then, if ever, come perfect days ;
Then heaven tries the earth if it be in tune,
And over it softly her warm ear lays."

LOWELL.

** All lives have their prose translation as well as their ideal meaning."

CHARLES AUCHESTER.

BUT Kinnicutt opened wider to receive them than Mish-
lumok had to let them go.

If Mr. Gartney's invalidism had to be pleaded to get
away with dignity, it was even more needed to shield with
anything of quietness their entrance into the new sphere
they had chosen.

It is astonishing how wide the circuit of neighborhood is
in and around a centre of bucolic life. The embrace widens
with the horizon. Where brick walls shut away the vision,
the thickness of a brick shuts out all knowledge. But with
the sweep of the far hills, and the up-arching blue, comes
a human relationship that takes in all the hills include —
nil that the blue looks down upon. It is everybody's busi
ness to find out everybody, and to know just how everybody
is "getting along."

" Faith, with her young adaptability, found great fund

FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD. 119

or mtertainment in the new social developments that un
folded themselves at Cross Corners.

All sorts of quaint vehicles drove up under the elms in
the afternoon visiting hours, day after day, — hitched horses,
and unladed passengers. Both doctors and their wives
came promptly, of course ; the " old doctor" from the vil
lage, and the "young doctor "from "over at Lakeside."
Quiet Mrs. Holland walked in at the twilight, by herself,
one day, to explain that her husband, the minister, was too
unwell to visit, and to say her pleasant, unpretentious words
of welcome. Square Leatherbee's daughters made them
selves fine in lilac silks and green Estella shawls, to offer
acquaintance to the new " city people." Aunt Faith came
over, once or twice a week, at times when "nobody else
would be round under foot," and always with some dainty
offering from dairy, garden, or kitchen. At other hours,
Glory was fain to seize all opportunity of errands that Miss
Henderson could not do, and irradiate the kitchen, linger-
ingly, until she herself might be more ecstatically irradiated
with a glance and smile from Miss Faith, who found and
came to understand that whatever might chance to bring
her over, her aunt's handmaid would never willingly depart
without a return message, or an inquiry whether " there was
any message to send, if she pleased ? " It was never " any
matter about the basket," and — " oh, dear ! she did n't wait
to be thanked, no more would Miss Henderson ; " but what
she did wait for hardly appeared, save as a quick kindliness
might divine it, seeing that she had no sooner got her thanks
and her basket from Faith's own hand and lip, than she was
off. shy and happy, and glorified up to the topmost wave of
her golden locks.

There was need enough of Aunt Faith's ministrations

120 FAITH GARTNEY 'S GIKLHOOD.

during these first, few, unsettled weeks. The young woman
who " had no objections to the country," objected no more
to these pleasant country fashions of neighborly kindness.
She had reason. Aunt Faith's "thirds bread," or crisp
"vanity cakes," or "velvet creams," were no sooner dis
posed of than there surely came a starvation interval of
sour biscuits, heavy gingerbread, and tough pie-crust, and
dinners feebly cooked, with no attempt at desserts, at all.

This was gloomy. This was the first trial of their country
life. Plainly, this cook was no cook, neither could she
easily be replaced with a better. Mr. Gartney 's dyspepsia
must be considered. Kinnicutt air and June sunshine
would not do all the curative work. The healthy appetite
they stimulated must be wholesomely supplied.

Faith took to the kitchen. To Glory's mute and rap
turous delight, she began to come almost daily up the field-
path, in her pretty round hat and morning wrapper, to
waylay her aunt in the tidy kitchen at the early hour when
her cookery was sure to be going on, to ask questions and
investigate, and " help a little," and then to go home and
repeat the operation as nearly as she could for their some
what later dinner.

"Miss McGonegal seems to be improving," observed Mr.
Gartney, complacently, one day, as he partook of a simple,
but favorite pudding, nicely flavored and compounded ;
" or is this a charity of Aunt Henderson's? "

"No," replied his wife, "it is home-manufacture," —
and she glanced at Faith without dropping her tone to a
period. Faith shook her head, and the sentence hung in
the air, unfinished.

Mrs. Gartney had not been strong, for years. Moreover,
she had not a genius for cooking. That is a real gift, as

FAITH GARTNET'S GIRLHOOD. 121

much as a genius for poetry or painting. Faith was finding
out, suddenly, that she had it. But she was quite willing
that her father should rest in the satisfactory belief that
Miss McGonegal, in whom it never, by any possibility,
could be developed, was improving; and that the good
things that found their way to his table had a paid and per
manent origin. He was more comfortable so, she thought
Meanwhile, they would inquire if the region round about
Kinnicutt might be expected to afford a substitute.

Dr. Wasgatt's wife told Mrs. Gartney of a young Amer
ican woman who was staying in the "factory village" be
yond Lakeside, and who had asked her husband if he knew
of any place where she could " hire out." Doctor Wasgatt
would be very glad to take her or Miss Faith over there, of
a morning, to see if she would answer.

Faith was very glad to go.

Doctor Wasgatt was the " old doctor." A benign man,
as old doctors, — when they don't grow contrariwise, and
become unspeakably gruff and crusty, — are apt to be. A
benign old doctor, a docile old horse, an old-fashioned two-
wheeled chaise that springs to the motion like a bough at a
bird-flitting, and an indescribable June morning wherein to
drive four miles and back, — well ! Faith could n't help
exulting in her heart that they wanted a cook.

It took them a long while to accomplish the four miles,
though. It was lucky the first dish of strawberries was
ready in the ice, for dinner, and that the roast lamb of yes
terday was to be eaten cold to-day, and that Mahala had
promised to see that Norah did n't overboil the peas. Faith
was free, so, to enjoy to the full all the enchantment and
novelty of her drive, and not to care a bit if she should n't

get home till sunset.
11

122 FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD.

Doctor Wasgatt had half-a-dozen patients to see between
Cross Comers and the factory village. Half-a-dozen, that
is, that he had known of, and set out with intent to see ;
and half-a-dozen more, or thereabouts, to whom he was
summoned by waylayment. A woman standing at the
window of one house upon the road, holding a pillow by
the end between her teeth, and preparing to shake it into
Us case, spied his chaise with the eye she had kept outward
for the purpose all the morning, and, dropping her extraor
dinary mouthful, as the raven did who sang, of old, to the
fox, hailed him with outstretched head and sudden cry.
And then, with the overzeal some women have who never
know when a thing is accomplished, she distrusted the force
of a single shot across his bows, and seeing that he appeared
about to pass the gate, — which was really that he might
only place his horse and his companion under the shade of
the butternuts beyond, — leaned half her person from the
window and fluttered the pillow-case at arm's length at
him, as a signal to lay to. Which, at the moment, he did ;
leaving Faith, not unwilling, under the flickering shade of
.the tall trees ; breathing in, with all June balms whereof
the air was full, the spicy smell of a chip-yard round the
comer, where the scraps of pine lay fervid and fragrant
under the summer sun.

There was neither sight, nor sound, nor odor, this perfect
day, but seemed an addition of delight. People were pic
turesque, even though they held feather-pillows between
their teeth, and screamed frantically from chamber windows.
The joyous and bounteous air found no utterance so discord
ant that it could not take into its clear, mellow sweep, and
soften into harmony. The crow that flew over the young
cornfields, — the farmer hallooing to his cattle, — the creak

FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD. 123

of wagons, — all, as really as the bird-twitterings that
rained, pure musical, from every bough, — made up a sum
mer melody together. Faith could n't be left suddenly any
where, to wait while Doctor Wasgatt dispensed pills, and
drops, and powders, where it was n't an ecstasy to be.

At another farm-house dooryard, an urchin had had an
hour's swing on the otherwise forbidden gate, that he might,
by that means, be at hand to "stop the doctor." It ia
greatly to be feared that " grandma'am's bad night " had
hardly been deplored with a due sympathy, meanwhile.

There were scarcely any other patients, in truth, to-day,
among them all, than the old, who were " kinder pulled
down by the warm spell," or babies, who must cut teeth,
and consequently worry, though the earth they had scarcely
looked upon was rioting in all this growing joy, cutting,
painless, quick, green blades of life everywhere, and so
smiling but the more widely ; and two or three consump
tive invalids, who must soon shut their weary eyes upon
the summer, let her lavish herself gloriously as she might
What others, truly, could be ill in June ?

The way was very lovely toward Lakeside, and across to
Factory Village. It crossed the capricious windings of
Wachaug two or three times within the distance, and then
bore round the Pond Road, which kept its old traditional
cognomen, though the new neighborhood that had grown
up at its farther bend had got a modern name, and the
beautiful pond itself had corne to be known with a legiti
mate dignity as Lake Wachaug.

Graceful birches, with a spring, and a joyous, whispered
(ecret in every glossy leaf, leaned over the road toward the
yater ; and close down to its ripples grew wild shrubs and
flowers, and lush grass, and lady-bracken, while out over

124 FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD.

the still depths rested green lily-pads, like floating throueg
waiting the fair water-queens who, a few weeks hence,
should rise to claim them. Back, behind the birches,
readied the fringe of woodland that melted away, pres
ently in the sunny pastures, and held in bush and branch
hundreds of little mother-birds, brooding in » still rapture,
like separate embodied pulses of the Universal Love, over
a coming life and joy.

Life and joy were everywhere. A thrill came up from
the warm earth, where insect and root were stirring at its
every pore, and the whole air was tremulous with a gentle
breath and motion. The sunlight danced and ohimmered
downward through the sky, as with the verj overcharge of
vitality it came to bring. Faith's heart danced and glowed
within her. She had thought, many a, time before, that
she was getting somewhat of the joy of the country, when,
after dinner and business were over, she had come out from
Misliaumok, in proper fashionable toilette, with her father
and mother, for an afternoon airing in the city environs.
But here, in the old doctor's "one-hoss shay," and with
her round straw hat and chintz wrapper on, she was finding
out what a rapturously different thing it is to go out into
the bountiful morning, and identify one's self therewith.

She had almost forgotten that she had any other errand
when they turned away from the lake, and took a little
side road that wound off from it, and struck the river again,
and brought them at last to the Wachaug Mills and Ahe
little factory settlement around them.

"This is Mrs. Pranker's," said the doctor, stopping at
the third doer in a block of factory houses, "and it's a
sister-in-law of hers who wants to ' hire out' I 've a pa
tient in the next row, and if you like. I '11 leave you here
a few minutes,"

FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD. 125

Faith's foot was instantly on the chaise-step, and she
sprang to the ground with only an acknowledging touch of
the good doctor's hand, upheld to aid her.

A white-haired boy of three, making gravel puddings in
a scolloped tin dish at the door, scrambled up as she ap
proached, upset his pudding, and sidled up the steps in a
scared fashion, with a finger in his mouth, and his round
gray eyes sending apprehensive peeps at her through the
linty locks.

" Well, tow-head ! " ejaculated an energetic female voice
within, to an accompaniment of swashing water, and a
scrape of a bucket along the floor ; " what 's wanting now ?
Can't you stay put, nohow ? "

An unintelligible jargon of baby chatter followed, which
seemed, however, to have conveyed an idea to the mother's
mind, for she appeared immediately in the passage, drying
her wet arms upon her apron.

" Mrs. Franker ? " asked Faith.

" That 's my name," replied the woman, as who should
say, peremptorily, "what then?"

" I was told — my mother heard — that a sister of yours
was looking for a place."

" She haint done much about lookin'," was the reply, " but
she was say in' she did n't know but what she 'd hire out for
a spell, if anybody wanted her. She 'a in the keepin'-room.
You can come in and speak to her, if you 're a mind to.
The kitchen floor's wet. I 'm jest a washin' of it. — You
little sperrit ! " This to the child, who was amusing him
self with the floor-cloth which he had fished out of the
bucket, and held up, dripping, letting a stream of dirty
water run down the front of his red calico frock. "If
children aint the biggest torments ! Talk about Job I His
11*

126 FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD.

wife had to have more patience than he did, I '11 be bound 1
A.nd patience aint any use, either ! The more you have,
the more you 're took advantage of ! I declare and testify,
it makes me as cross as sin, jest to think how good-natured
I be!" And with this, she snatched the cloth from the
boy's hands, shook first him and then his frock, to get
rid, in so far as a shake might accomplish it, of original
depravity and sandy soapsuds, and carried him, vociferant,
to the door, where she set him down to the consolation of
gravel- pudding again.

Meanwhile Faith crossed the sloppy kitchen, on tiptoe,
toward an open door, that revealed a room within.

Here a very fat young woman, with a rather pleasant
face, was seated, sewing, in a rocking-chair, her elbowa
resting on the arms thereof, and her work held up, so, be
fore her, while her feet, visible below the hem of her dress
at a rather wide interval from each other, were keeping up,
by a slight, regular rebound from the floor, an easy motion
that seemed not at all to interfere with her use of the
needle.

She did not rise, or move, at Faith's entrance, otherwise
than to look up, composedly, and let fall her arms along
those of the chair, retaining the needle in one hand and
her work in the other.

" I came to see," said Faith, — obliged to say something
so explain her presence, but secretly appalled at the mag
nitude of the subject she had to deal with, — "if you
wanted a place in a family."

•• Take a seat," said the young woman.

Faith availed herself of one, and, doubtful precisely
what to say next, waited for indications from the othei
party.

FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD. 127

"Well — I was calc'latin' to hire out this summer, but
\ aiot very partic'ler about it, neither."

She made little scratches, indifferently, on the end of the
chair-arm, with the point of her needle, as she spoke, and
rubbed them out with the moist finger-tip from which she
had slipped her thimble.

"Can you cook?"

" Most kinds. I can't do much fancy cookin'. Guess I
can make bread, — all sorts, — and roast, and bile, and
see to common fixin's, though, as well as the next one ! "

" We like plain country cooking," said Faith, thinking
of Aunt Henderson's delicious, though simple, prepara
tions. " And I suppose you can make new things if you
have direction."

" Well — I'm pretty good at workin' out a resate, too.
But then, I aint anyways partic'ler 'bout hirin' out, as I
said afore."

Faith judged rightly that this was a salvo put in for
pride. The Yankee girl would not appear anxious for a
servile situation. All the while the conversation went on,
she sat tilting herself gently back and forth in the rocking-
chair, with a lazy touching of her toes to the floor. Her
very vis inertice would not let her stop.

Faith's only question, now, was with herself, — how she
should get away again. She had no idea that this huge,
indolent creature would be at all suitable as their servant.
And then, her utter want of manners !

•' I '11 tell my mother what you say," said she, rising.
" I only came to inquire."

" What *s your mother's name, and where d' ye live? "

"We live at Kinnicutt Cross Corners. My mother IB
Mrs. Henderson Gartney."

••'Ml"

128 FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD.

Faith turned toward the kitchen.

" Look here ! " called the stout young woman after her ;
you may jest say if she wants me she can send for me. I
don't mind if I try it a spell."

" I didn't ask your name," remarked Faith, pausing on
the threshold and waiting for enlightenment.

" Oh ! my name 's Mis' Battis ! "

Faith escaped over the wet floor, sprang past the white-
haired child at the door-step, and was just in time to be
put into the chaise by Doctor Wasgatt, who drove up as she
came out. She did not dare trust her voice to speak within
hearing of the house ; but when they had come round the
mills again, into the secluded river road, she startled its
quietness and the doctor's composure, with a laugh that
rang out clear and overflowing like the very soul of fun.

" So that's all you've got out of your visit? " asked the
doctor, guessing easily at some ludicrous conjuncture.

" Yes, that is all," said Faith. " But it 's a great deal ! "
And she laughed again, — such a merry little waterfall of
a laugh as chimed in wonderfully with all the broad, bright
cheer of the summer day, and made a fitting music there,
between the woods and river.

When she reached home, Mrs. Gartney met her at tho
door.

"Well, Faithie," she cried, somewhat eagerly, "what have
you found ? "

Faith's eyes danced with merriment.

" I don't know, mother ! A — hippopotamus, I think ! "

" Won't she do? What do you mean ? "

" Why she 's ?s big ! I can't tell you how big ! And she
sat in a rocking-chair and rocked all the time, — and shn
says her namr is Miss Battis 1 "

FAITH GARTNEY 'S GIRLHOOD. 129

Mrs. Gartney looked rather perplexed than amused.

" But, Faith ! — I can't think how she knew, — she must
have been listening, — Norah has been so horribly angry !
And she's up stairs packing her things to go right off.
H jw can we be left without a cook ? "

" It seems Miss McGonegal means to demonstrate that
we can ! Perhaps — the hippopotamus might be trained to
domestic service ! She said you could send if you wanted
her. And she knows about plain country cooking."

" I don't see anything else to do. Norah won't even stay
till morning. And there is n't a bit of bread in the house.
I can't send this afternoon, though, for your father has
driven over to Sedgely about some celery and tomato plants,
and won't be home till tea-time."

" I '11 make some cream biscuits like aunt Faith's. And
I '11 go out into the garden and find Luther. If he can't
carry us through the Eeformation, somehow, he- doesn't
deserve his name."

Luther was found — thought Jerry Blanchard would n't
" value lettin' him have his old horse and shay for an hour."
and he would n't " be mor 'n that goin'." He could " fetch
her, easy enough, if that was all."

Mis' Battis came.

She entered Mrs. Gartney's presence with calm noncha
lance, and "flumped" incontinently into the easiest and
nearest chair.

Mrs. Gartney began with the common preliminary — the
name. Mis' Battis introduced herself as before.

" But your first name ? " proceeded the lady.

" My first name was Parthenia Pranker. I 'm a relic."

Mrs. Gartney experienced an internal convulsion, but
retained her outward composure.

130 FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD.

" I suppose you would quite as lief be called Parthenia ? "

"Ruther," replied the relict, laconically.

And Mrs. Parthenia Battis was forthwith installed, —
pro tern., — in the Cross Corners kitchen.

" She 's got considerable gumption," was the opinion
Luther volunteered, of his own previous knowledge, — for
Mrs. Battis was an old schoolmate and neighbor, — " but
she 's powerful slow."

CHAPTER XV

NEW DUTIES.
" Whatsoever thy band findeth to do, do it with thy might."— Boo. 9: 10.

" A servant with this clause

Makes d udgery divine ; —
Who sweeps a room as for Thy laws,
Makes that and the action fine."

GEORGE HERBERT.

Mis' BATTIS'S "gumption" was a relief, — conjoined,
even, as it was, to a mighty inertia, — after the experience
of Norah McGonegal's utter incapacity ; and her admission,
pro tempore, came to be tacitly looked upon as a permanent
adoption, for want of a setter alternative. She continued
to seat herself, unabashed, whenever opportunity offered, in
the presence of the fau.ily ; and invariably did so, when
Mrs. Gartney either sent for, or came to her, to give orders.
Dishcloth, or rolling-pin, or bread-knife, or poker, or what
ever other utensil in hand, — down she would plump the
instant active operations, if hers might ever be so denomi
nated, were suspended, Ly having her attention demanded
otherwise. She always spoke of Mr. Gartney as " be," ad
dressed her mistress as Miss Gartney, and ignored all prefix
to the gentle name of Faith. The first of these habits was
eimply borne with, in consideration of inalienable laws.

132 FAITH GARTNEY'% GIRLHOOD.

Heavy bodies have a right to gravitate ; and power of
resistance can only be expected in inverse proportion to the
force of attraction. For the matter of appellations, Mrs.
Grartney at last remedied the pronominal difficulty by inva
riably applying all remarks bearing no other indication,
to that other "he" of the household — Luther. Her own
claim to the matronly title she gave up all hope of estab
lishing ; for if the " relic' " abbreviated her own wifely dis
tinction, how should she be expected to dignify other
people ?

As to Faith, her mother ventured one day, sensitively
and timidly, to speak directly to the point.

" My daughter has always been accustomed to be called
Miss Faith," she said, gently, in reply to an observation of
Parthenia's, in which the ungarnished name had twice been
used. " It i:> n't a very important matter, — still, it would
be pleasanter to us, and I dare say you won't mind trying
to remember it ? "

" 'M ! " Mis' Battis's invariable intonation in response
to the suggestion of any new idea was somewhat prolonged.
" No, — I aint partic'ler. Faith aint a long name, and
't won't be much trouble to put a handle on, if that 's what
you want. It 's English-fashion, aint it ? "

Parthenia's coolness enabled Mrs. Gartney to assert, some
what more confidently, her own dignity.

" It is a fashion of respect and courtesy, everywhere, I
believe."

" 'M ! " re-ejaculated the relict

Thereafter, Faith was " Miss," with a slight pressure of
emphasis upon the handle.

"Mamma!" cried Hendie, impetuously, one day, as ho
rushed in from a walk with his attendant, " I hate Mahala

FAITH GARTNEY 'S GIRLHOOD. 133

Harris ! I wish you 'd let me dress myself, and go to walk
alone, and send her off to Jericho ! "

"Whereabouts do you suppose Jericho to be?" asked
Faith, laughing.

"I don't know. It's where she keeps wishing I was,
vhen she 's cross, and I want anything. I wish she waa
there ! — and I mean to ask papa to send her ! "

" Go and take your hat off, Hendie, and have your hair
brushed, and your hands washed, and then come back in a
nice quiet little temper, and we '11 talk about it," said Mrs.
Gartney.

"I think," said Faith to her "mother, as the boy was
heard mounting the stairs to the nursery, right foot fore
most all the way, " that Mahala does n't manage Hendie
as she ought. She keeps him in a fret. I hear them in
the morning while I am dressing. She seems to talk to
him in a taunting sort of way ; and he gets so angry, some
times! I 'm afraid she 's spoiling his temper."

"What can we do?" exclaimed Mrs. Gartney, worriedly.
"These changes are dreadful. We might get some one
worse. And then we can't afford to pay extravagantly.
Mahala has been content to take less wages, and I think
she means to be faithful. Perhaps if I make her under
stand how important it is, she will try a different manner."

" Only it might be too late to do much good, if Hendie
has really got to dislike her. And — besides — I 've been
thinking, — only, you will say I 'm so full of projects — "

Put what the project was, Mrs. Gartney did not hear at
once, for just then Hendic's voice was heard again at the
head of the stairs.

" I tell you, mother said I might ! I 'm going — down —
in a nice — little temper — to ask her — to send you — to
12

134 FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD.

Jericho I " Left foot foremost, a drop between each few
syllables, he came stumping, defiantly, down the stairs, and
appeared with all his eager story in his eyes.

" She plagues me, mamma! She tells me to see who '11
get dressed first ; and if she does, she says, —

" « The first 'a the best,

The second 's the same ;
The last 's the worst
Of all the game!'

And if / gel dressed first, — all but the buttoning, you
know, — she

" ' The last 's the best,

The second 's the same ;
The first 's the worst
Of all the game!'

And then she keeps telling me that ' her little sister nevei
behaved like me.' I asked her where her little sister was,
and she said she 'd gone over Jordan. I 'm glad of it ! I
wish MaLala would go too ! "

Mrs. Gartney smiled, and Faith could not help laughing
outright.

Hendie burst into a passion of tears.

"Everybody keeps plaguing me! It's too bad!" he
cried, with tumultuous sobs.

Faith checked her laughter instantly. She took the in-
dignant little fellow on her lap, in despite of some slight,
implacable struggle on his part, and kissed his pouting lips.

"No, indeed, Hendie ! We would n't plague you for all
the world ! And you don't know what I 've got for you,
just as soon as you 're ready for it ! "

Hendie took his little knuckles out of his eyes, and

FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD. 135

looked up, inquiringly, holding his hands upraised, mean
time, on either side his tearful face, as quite ready to begin
crying again, in case the proffered diversion should not
prove satisfactory.

" A bunch of great red cherries, as big as your two
hands!"

The hands went alternately to the eyes again, and
streaked away the tears for clearer seeing.

"Where?"

" I '11 get them, if you 're good. And then you can go
out in the front yard, and eat them, so that you can drop
the stones on the grass."

Hendie was soon established on a flat stone under the
old chestnut-trees, in a happy temporary oblivion of Ma-
hala's injustice, and her little sister's unendurable per
fections.

" I '11 tell you, mamma. I 've been thinking we need not
keep Mahala, if you don't wish. She has been so used to
do nothing but run round after Hendie, that, really, she
is n't much good about the house ; and I '11 take Hendie's
trundle-bed into my room, and there '11 be one less chamber
to take care of ; and you know we always dust and arrange
down here."

" Yes, — but the sweeping, Faithie ! And the washing 1
Parthenia never would get through with it all."

"Well, somebody might come and help wash. And I
guess I can sweep."

"But I can't bear to put you to such work, darling 1
You need your time for other things."

" I have ever so much time, mother ! And, besides, as
Aunt Faith says, I don't believe it makes so very much
matter what we do. I was talking to her, the other day,

136 FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD.

about doing coarse work, and living a narrow, common
kind of life, and what do you think she said ? "

" I can't tell, of course. Something blunt and original."

" We were out in the garden. She pointed to some
plants that were coming up from seeds, that had just two
tough, clumsy, coarse leaves. ' What do you call them ? '
said auntie. ' Cotyledons, are n't they ? ' said I. ' I don't
know what they are in botany,' said she ; ' but I know the
use of 'em. They '11 last awhile, and help feed up what 'a
growing inside and underneath, and by-and-by they '11 drop
off, when they 're done with, and you '11 see what 's been
coming of it Folks can't live the best right out at first,
any more than plants can. I guess we all want some kind
of — cotyledons.' "

Mrs. Gartney's eyes shone with affection, and something
that affection called there, as she looked upon her daughter.

"I guess the cotyledons won't hinder your growing,"
said she.

And so, in a few days after, Mahala was dismissed, and
Faith took upon herself new duties.

It was a bright, happy face that glanced hither and
thither, about the house, those fair summer mornings ; and
it was n't the hands alone that were busy, as under their
dexterous and delicate touch all things arranged themselves
in attractive and graceful order. Thought straightened
and cleared itself, as furniture and books were dusted and
set right ; and while the carpet brightened under the broom,
something else brightened and strengthened, also, within.

It is so true, what the author of "Euthanasy" tells us,
that exercise of limb and muscle develops not only them
selves, but what is in us as we work.

stroke of the hammer upon the anvil hardens

FAITH QARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD. 137

a little what is at the time the temper of the smith's
inind."

" The toil of the ploughman furrows the ground, and so
it does his brow with wrinkles, visibly ; and invisibly, but
quite as certainly, it furrows the current of feeling, com
mon with him at his work, into an almost unchangeable
channel."

Faith's life-purpose deepened as she did each daily task.
She had hold, already of the " high and holy work of love "
that had been prophesied.

" I am sure of one thing, mother," said she, gayly ; " if 1
don't learn much that is new, I am bringing old knowledge
into play. It 's the same thing, taken hold of at different
ends. I 've learned to draw straight lines, and shade pic-
tures ; and so there is n't any difficulty in sweeping a carpet
clean, or setting chairs straight. I never shall wonder
again that a woman who never heard of a right angle can't
lay a table even."

12*

CKAPTEE XVL

" BLESSED BE YE, POOB."

And BO we yearn, and so we sigh,
And reach for more than we can see;

And, Witless of our folded wings,
Walk Paradise, unconsciously.

OCTOBER came, and brought small dividends. The ex-
penses upon the farm had necessarily been considerable,
also, to put things in "good running ordei." Mr. Gart-
ney's health, though greatly improved, was not yet so con
fidently to be relied on, as to make it advisable for him to
think of any change, as yet, with a view to business. In
deed, there was little opportunity for business, to tempt
him. Everything was flat. The exhaustion of the great
financial struggle it had passed through lay, like a paral
ysis, upon the community. There was neither confidence
nor credit. Without actual capital, nothing could be done.
Mr. Gartney must wait. But when a man finds himself,
at fiv3-and-forty years of age, out of business, with broken
health, and in disastrous times, there is little likelihood of
his launching successfully ever again into any large mer
cantile life. Mrs. Gartney and Faith felt, though they
talked of waiting, that the prospect really before them wag
that of a careful, obscure life, upon a very limited income.
The house in Mishaumok had stood vacant all the summer

FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD. 139

There was hope, of course, of letting it now, as the winter
season came on, but rents were falling, and people were
timid and discouraged. Nobody made any sort of move
who could help it

October was beautiful at Kinnicutt. And Faith, when
she looked out over the glory of woods and sky, and felt the
joy of the sunshine, as the hem of summer's departing robe
overswept the bright frost-broideries of autumn, making
such a palpable blessedness abroad — felt rich with the
great wealth of the world, and forgot about economies and
privations. She was so glad they had come here with their
altered plans, and had not struggled shabbily and drearily
on in Mishaumok !

It was only when some chance bit of news from the city,
or a girlish, gossipy note from some school-friend found its
way to Cross Corners, that she felt, a little keenly, her
denials, — realized how the world she had lived in all her
life was going on without her, and how here, environed
with the beauty of all earth and heaven, she was yet so
nearly shut out from congenial human companionship.
There were so many things she had hoped to learn, and to
do, and to enjoy, that now must be only dreams ! So many
things she felt herself fitted for, that now might never come
in her way ! What a strange thing was life ! A longing—
A reaching — an imagining — a hoping, — was it ever a
substantial grasping? Were we just put here to catch a
glimpse of things that might be, and to turn away from all,
Knowing taat it may not be, for us?

It was the old plaint that Glory made, in her dark daya
of childhood, — this feeling of despondency and loss that
assailed Faith now and then, — " such lots of good times in
the world, and she not in 'em ! "

HO FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD.

Mrs. Etherege and Saidie were coming home. Gertrude
Rushleigh, Saidie's old intimate, was to be married on the
twenty-eighth, and had fixed her wedding thus for the very
last of the month, that Miss Gartney might arrive to keep
her promise of long time, by officiating as bridesmaid.

The family eclipse would not overshadow Saidie. She
had made her place in the world now, and with her aunt's
aid and countenance, would keep it. It was quite different
with Faith, — disappearing, as she had done, from notice,
before ever actually "coming out."

" It was a thousand pities," Aunt Etherege said, when
she and Saidie discussed with Mrs. Gartney, at Cross Cor
ners, the family affairs. " And things just as they were,
too! Why, another year might have settled matters for
her, so that this need never have happened ! At any rate,
the child should n't be moped up here, all winter ! "

Mrs. Etherege had engaged rooms, on her arrival, at the
Mishaumok House ; and it seemed to be taken for granted
by her, and by Saidie as well, that this coming home was,
as Faith had long ago prophesied, a mere visit ; that Miss
Gartney would, of course, spend the greater part of the
winter with her aunt ; and that lady extended also an invi
tation to Mishaumok for a month — including the wedding
festivities at the Eushleighs ' — to Faith.

Faith shook her head. She "knew she couldn't be
spared so long." Secretly, she doubted whether it would
be a good plan to go back and get a peep at things that
might send her home discontented and unhappy.

But her mother reasoned, or felt impulse, otherwise.
Faithie must go. " The child must n't be moped up." She
would get on, somehow, without her. Mothers always can.
So Faith, by a compromise, went for a fortnight. Sh*
eould n't quite resist her newly-returned sister.

FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD. 141

Besides, a pressing personal invitation had come from
Margaret Kushleigh to Faith herself, with a little private
announcement at the end, that " Paul was refractory, and
utterly refused to act as fourth groomsman, unless Faith
Gartney were got to come and stand with him."

Faith tore off the postscript, and might have lit it at her
cheeks, but dropped it, of habit, into the fire ; and then the
note was at the disposal of the family.

It was a whirl of wonderful excitement to Faith — that
fortnight ! So many people to see, so much to hear, and in
the midst of all, the gorgeous wedding festival !

What wonder if a little dream flitted through her head,
as she stood there, in the marriage group, at Paul Rush-
Icigh's side, and looked about her on the magnificent fashion
wherein the affection of new relatives and old friends had
made itself tangible ; and heard the kindly words of the
elder Mr. Rushleigh to Kate Livingston, who stood with
his son Philip, and whose bridal, it was well known, was to
come next? Jewels, and silver, and gold, are such flashing,
concrete evidences of love ! And the courtly condescension
of an old and world-honored man to the young girl whom
his son has chosen, is such a winning and distinguishing
thing !

Paul Eushleigh had finished his college course, and waa
to go abroad this winter — between the weddings, as he
said — for his brother Philip's was to take place in the
coming spring. After that, — things were not quite settled,
but something was to be arranged for him meanwhile, —
he would have to begin his work in the world ; and then —
he supposed it would be time for him to find a helpmeet
Marrying was like dying, he believed ; when a family once
began to go off there was soon an end of it!

.42 FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD.

Blushes were the livery of the evening, and Faith's deeper
glow at this audacious rattle passed unheeded, except, per
haps, as it might be somewhat wilfully interpreted.

There were two or three parties made for the newly-
married couple in the week that followed. The week after,
Paul Eushleigh, with the bride and groom, was to sail for
Europe. At each of these brilliant entertainments he con
stituted himself, as in duty bound, Faith's knight and sworn
attendant; and a superb bouquet for each occasion, the
result of the ransack of successive greenhouses, came
punctually, from him, to her door. For years afterward, —
perhaps for all her life, — Faith could n't smell heliotrope,
and geranium and orange flowers, without floating back,
momentarily, into the dream of those few, enchanted days !

She staid in Mishaumok a little beyond the limit she had
fixed for herself, to go, with the others, on board the steamer
at the time of her sailing, and see the gay party off. Paul
Rushleigh had more significant words, and another gift of
flowers as a farewell.

When she carried these last to her own room, to put them
iu water, on her return, something she had not noticed be
fore glittered among their stems. It was a delicate little
ring, of twisted gold, with a forget-me-not in turquoise and
enamel upon the top.

Faith was half- pleased, half- frightened, and wholly
ashamed.

Paul Rushleigh was miles out on the Atlantic. There was
no help for it, she thought It had been cunningly done.

And so, in the short November days, she went back to
K innicutt.

The east parlor had to be shut up now, for the winter
The family gathering-place was the sunny little sitting-

JAITII GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD. U3

room ; and with closed doors and doubled windows, they
began, for the first time, to find that they were really living
in a little bit of a house

It was very pretty, though, with the rich carpet and the
crimson curtains that had come from Hickory Street, replac
ing the white muslin draperies and straw matting of the
Bummer ; and the books and vases, and statuettes and pic
tures, gathered into so small space, seemed to fill the room
with luxury and beauty.

Faith nestled her little work-stand into a nook between
the windows. Hcndie's blocks and picture books were
etowed in a corner cupboard. Mr. Gartney's newspapers
and pamphlets, as they came, found room in a deep drawer
below ; and so, through the wintry drifts and gales, they
were " close hauled " and comfortable.

Faith was happy ; yet she thought, now and then, when
.he whistling wind broke the stillness of the dark evenings,
of light and music elsewhere ; and how, a year ago, there
had always been the chance of a visitor or two to drop in,
and while away the hours. Nobody rang the bell or lifted
the old-fashioned knocker, here at Cross Corners.

By day, even, it was scarcely different. Kinnicutt was
hibernating. Each household had drawn into its shell.
And the huge drifts, lying defiant against the fences in the
short, ineffectual winter sunlight, held out little hope of
reanimation. Aunt Faith, in her pumpkin hood, and Rob
Roy cloak, and carpet moccasins, came over once in two 01
three days, and even occasionally staid to tea, and helped
make up a rubber of whist for Mr. Gartney's amusement ;
but. beyond this, they had no social excitement.

January brought a thaw ; and. still further to break the
monotony, there arose a stir and an anxiety in the parish.

144 FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD.

Good Mr. Holland, its minister of thirty years, whoso
health had been failing for many months, was at last com
pelled to relinquish the duties of his pulpit for a time ; and
a supply was sought with the ultimate probability of a suc
cession. A new minister came to preach, who was to fill the
pastor's place for the ensuing three months On his first
Sunday among them, Faith heard a wonderful sermon.

I indicate thus, not the oratory, nor the rhetoric ; but the
sermon, of which these were the mere vehicle, — the word
of truth itself, — which was spoken, seemingly, to her very
thought

So also, as certainly, to the long life-thought of one
other. Glory McWhirk sat in Miss Henderson's corner
pew, and drank it in, as a soul athirst.

A man of middle age, one might have said, at first sight,
— there was, here and there, a silver gleam in the dark
hair and beard ; yet a fire and earnestness of youth in the
deep, beautiful eye, and a look in the face as of life's first
flush and glow Bot lost, but rather merged in broader light,
still climbing to its culmination, belied these tokens, ind
made it as if a white frost had fallen in June, — rising up
before the crowded village congregation, looked round upon
the upturned faces, as One had looked before who brought
the bread of Life to men's eager asking ; and uttered the
self-same simple words.

It was a certain pause and emphasis he made, — a slight
new rendering of punctuation, — that sent home the force
of those words to the people who heard them, as if it had
been for the n'rct time, and fresh from the lips of the Great
Teacher. ,

" Blessed are the poor: in spirit : for theirs is the king
dom of heaven."

FAITH GARTNEJ'S GIRLHOOD. 145

" Herein Christ spoke, not to a class, only, but to the
world ! A world of souls, wrestling with the poverty of
life!

"In that whole assemblage — that great concourse — that
had thronged from cities and villages to hear His words
upon the mountain-side, — was there, think you, one satis
fied nature ?

11 Friends — are ye satisfied?

" Or, does every life come to know, at first or at last, how
something, — a hope, or a possibility, or the fulfilment of
a purpose, — has got dropped out of it, or has even never
entered, so that an emptiness yawns, craving, therein,
forever ?

" How many souls hunger till they are past their ap
petite ! Go on, — down through the years, — needy and
waiting, and never find or grasp that which a sure instinct
tells them they were made for ?

" This, this is the poverty of life ! These are the poor, to
whom God's Gospel was preached in Christ! And to these
denied and waiting ones the first words of Christ's preach
ing — as I read them — were spoken in blessing.

" Because, elsewhere, he blesses the meek ; elsewhere and
presently, he tells us how the lowly in spirit shall inherit
the earth ; so, when I open to this, his earliest uttered ben
ediction upon our race, I read it with an interpretation that
includes all humanity.

" « Blessed, in spirit, are the poor. Theirs is the kingdom
(f heaven.'

" They, only, who go without, know, truly, what it is to
Aave. The light, and the music, and the splendor, and the

13

146 FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD.

feasting, arc greater to the beggar who peeps in from the
Btreet, than to him who sits at the revel. It is the naked
and the hungry who can tell you best the good of food and
raiment. So we live in a paradox. We feel, keenest, the
joy we never come to.

" Ye who have missed out of your actual living the an-
awer to your soul's passionate asking. — ye whom something
afar off, that ought to be your very own, passes by like a
mirage, who see, away off upon the distant horizon, like
dwellers in a wintry Arctic, a sun circling over happier
zones, that never comes nigh your zenith, — see here 1
where the unsetting Sun of the Kingdom sends down its
full and glorious rays into the secret cold and ache within
you!

" Outside may be cold and darkness. Your hands may
stretch into an unresponsive void. Yet in your spirits are
ye blessed. There find ye, wide open, the door into the
Kingdom ! As out of a dream, paths impossible to sense
and every day show plain and sudden transit into distant
places, — so from your shut souls widens out an entrance-
way into God's everlasting Joy !

" Yours is the Kingdom 1 Because earth is so little, the
•world that lies in and about this visible that we call earth
becomes so much !

" What is this Kingdom of Heaven? ' It is within you.'
It is that which you hold, and live in spiritually ; the real,
of which all earthly, outward being and having are but the
(show. It is the region wherein little children "do always
behold the Face of my Father which is in Heaven." It is

FAITH GAATNEY'S GIRLHOOD. 147

where we are when we shut our eyes and pray in the word*
that Christ taught us.

" There are souls who do not need to live out, coarsely,
in detail. Their inward conception transcends the visiblo
form. Count it an assurance of more vital good, when God
denies you.

" All that in any life you know of or can imagine thai
seems to you lovely, and to be longed for, is yours already.
in that very longing. You take its essence, so, into your
souls. And you hold it as God's promise for the great
time to come. So you have His seal upon your foreheads.
So He calls you, and shall lead you, into the place He has
prepared for you from the foundation of the world. There
is no joy, — there is no beauty, — there is no glory of living
or of acting, — no supreme moment you can picture in your
dreams, that rs not in your life, as God sees it, — stirring
in the intuition you have of it now, — waiting for you in
the glorious fulfilment that shall be There !

" What matters, then, where your feet stand, or wherewith
your hands are busy? So that it is the spot where God kas
put you, and the work He has given you to do ? Your real
life is within, — hid in God with Christ, — ripening, and
strengthening, and waiting, as through the long, geologic
ages of night and incompleteness waited the germs of all
that was to unfold into this actual, green, and bounteous
earth !

" Take in to yourselves, then, fearlessly, all life whereto
your own life, by any far or secret sympathy, touches, —

148 FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD.

for it is yours! Eejoice with that which doth rejoice, and
weep with all that weeps 1

" Your body can only traverse minute spaces of a tiny
globe : the minutes of your breathing, mortal life can only
give you time for puny and unfinished action ; — but the
soul of all that is broad and beautiful, noble and great,
may be none the less nourishing within you, feeding itself
on all the life that is living, or has been living, or shall be
lived !

" The narrower your daily round, the wider, maybe, the
outreach. Isolated upon a barren mountain-peak, you may
take in river and lake, — forest, field, and valley. A hun
dred gardens and harvests lift their bloom and fulness to
your single eye.

" There is a sunlight that contracts the vision ; there is a
starlight that enlarges it to take in infinite space.

" God sets some souls in shade, alone.
They have no daylight of their own.
Only in lives of happier ones
They see the shine of distant suns.

*' God knows. Content thec with thy night.
Thy greater heaven hath grander light.
To day is close. The hours are small.
Thou sitst afar, and hast them all.

" Lose the less joy that doth but blind ;
Reach forth a larger bliss to find.
To-day is brief: the inclusive spheres
Ram raptures of a thousand years."

TTaith could not tell what hymn was sung, or what were
tho words of the prayer that followed the sermon. There
was a music and an uplifting in her own soul that made
'hem needless, but for the pause they gave her.

FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD. 149

She hardly knew that a notice was read as the people
rose before the benediction, when the minister gave out, aa
requested, that " the Village Dorcas Society would meet on
Wednesday of the coming week, at Mrs. Parley Gimp's."
• She was made aware that it had fallen upon her ears,
though heard unconsciously, when Serena Gimp caught her
by the sleeve in the church porch.

" Aint it awful," said she, with a simper and a flutter of
importance, " to have your name called right out so in the
pulpit ? I declare, if it had n't been for seeing the new
minister, I would n't have come to meeting, I dreaded it so !
Aint he handsome ? He 's old, though — thirty-five ! He 'a
broken-hearted, too ! Somebody died, or something else,
that he was going to be married to, ever so many years
ago ; and they say he has n't hardly spoken to a lady since.
That 's so romantic ! I don't wonder he preaches such low-
spirited kind of sermons. Only I wish they war n't quite
so. I suppose it 's beautiful, and heavenly-minded, and all
that ; but yet I 'd rather hear something a little kind of
cheerful. Don't you think so ? But the poetry was elegant
— war n't it ? I guess it 's original, too. They say he puts
things in the ' Mishaumok Monthly.' — Come Wednesday,
won't you? We shall depend, you know."

To Miss Gimp, the one salient point, amid the solemni
ties of the day, had been that pulpit notice. She had put
new strings to her bonnet for the occasion. Mrs. Gimp,
being more immediately and personally affected, had mod-
tstly remained away from church.

Faith got away, she hardly knew how. Her mind mis
gave her afterward that it had been by a precipitate and
positive promise to attend the meeting of the Village Dorcas
Society.

13*

150 FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD.

Glory McWhirk went straight through the village, home ;
and out to her little room in the sunny side of the low,
sloping roof. This was her winter nook. She had a sha
dier one, looking the other way, for summer.

Does it seem unlikely that this untaught girl should have
taken in the meaning of the words that had burned upon
her ear to-day ? The speaker's diction may have been be
yond her, here and there ; it might be impossible for her
now to gather up in her memory any portion of the precise
form in which the glorious truth had come to her ; that
mattered not. It needs not a critical interpretation of lan
guage to apprehend a thought whose rudiment has been
lying in the soul before. The little seed underneath the
earth can no further analyze the sunbeam than to snatch
from it the mysterious vivification it was waiting for. Thia
it does, surely.

"I wonder if it's all true! " she cried, silently, in her
soul, while she stood for a minute with bonnet and shawl
still on, and grasping still in her fingers what she had held
there all the morning — her Testament and Sunday-school
question-book, and folded pocket-handkerchief, — looking
out from her little window, dreamily, over the dazzle of the
snow, even as her half-blinded thought peered out from its
own narrowness into the infinite splendor of the promise of
God, — "I wonder if God will ever make me beautiful ! I
wonder if I shall ever have a real, great joy fulness, that
is n't a make-believe ! "

Glory called her fancies so. They followed her stilL
She lived yet in an ideal world. The real world, — that is,
the best good of it, — had not come close enough to her,
even in this, her widely amended condition, to displace the
olher. Remember, — this child of eighteen had missed her

FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD. 151

childhood ; had known neither father nor mother, sister nor
brother.

Don't think her simple, in the pitiful meaning of the
word ; but she still enacted, in the midst of her plain, daily
life, wonderful dreams that nobody could have ever sus
pected ; and here, in her solitary chamber, called up at will
creatures of imagination who were to her what human crea
tures, alas ! had never been. Above all, she had a sister
here, to whom she told all her secrete. This sister's name
was Leonora.

CHAPTER XVIL

FROST-WONDERS.

" No hammers fell, no ponderous axes rung ;
Like some tall palm, the mystic fabric sprung.
Majestic silence ! " HEBER.

THE thaw continued till the snow was nearly gone. Ont}
the great drifts against the fences, and the white folds in
the rifts of distant hill-sides lingered to tell what had been.
Then came a day of warm rain, that washed away the last
fragment of earth's cast-off vesture, and bathed her pure
for the new adornment that was to be laid upon her. At
night, the weather cooled, and the rain changed to a fine,
slow mist, congealing as it fell.

Faith stood next morning by a small round table in the
sitting-room window, and leaned lovingly over her jonquils
and hyacinths that were coming into bloom. A tall stem
that had been opening day by day, successively, bright bita
of golden blossom, stood erect in a small stateliness, with
its last wee flower unfolded, and seemed to have taken a
new attitude and expression, since yesterday, of satisfied
and proud accomplishment. It was so pert, so dainty, so
prim, that Faith laughed in the six saucy little faces that
looked out at her from its slender culm. Then she drew
the curtain-cord to let in the first sunbeam that should slant

FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD. 153

from the south upon her bulbs. She had somehow hurried
from her room, forgetting to throw up her window at the
moment of her leaving, as it was her habit to do. She
knew the sunbeams were coming, though, for they were
bright from the east upon the linen shades. So her first
fair glimpse of the day was at raising the white curtain
slowly over its roller, like the uplifting of a drapery from
before a scene.

She gave a little cry of rapturous astonishment. It waa
a diamond morning 1

Away off, up the lane, and over the meadows, every tret>
and bush was hung with twinkling gems that the slight
wind swayed against each other with tiny crashes of faint
music, and the sun was just touching with a level splendor.

Every spire and thorn stood stiff with crystal armor ; the
stones and fences and tree-boles were veneered with glass.
The tiniest twig was visible in separate light. The gorgeous
tracery of the boughs seemed to open interminable vistas
of resplendent intricacy. The field whose green summer
plenitude gave but one soft sensation to the eye, was a wil
derness now, where every glistening grass-blade insisted on
its individuality. The earth widened out — was magnified.
The unmeasured blue above seemed to dwindle in the pres
ence of all the myriad growths it overarched.

After that first, quick cry, Faith stood mute with ecstasy.

" Mother! " said she, breathlessly, at last, as Mrs. Gart-
uey entered, " look there ! have you seen it? Just imagine
what the woods must be this morning ! How can we think
of buckwheats'?"

Sounds and odors betrayed that Mis' Battis and breakfast
Vere in the little rocm adjoining.

" There is a thought of something akin to them, is n't

154 FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD.

there, under all this splendor ? Men must live, and grasa
and grain must grow."

Mr. Gartney said this, as he came up behind wife and
daughter, and laid a hand on a shoulder of each.

" I know one thing, though," said Faith. " I '11 eat the
buckwheats, as a vulgar necessity, and then I '11 go over tho
brook and up in the woods behind the Pasture Rocks. It 'U
last, wont it?"

" Not many hours, with this spring balm in the air,"
replied her father. " You must make haste. By noon, it
will be all a drizzle."

" Will it be quite safe for her to go alone? " asked Mrs.
Gartney.

" I '11 ask Aunt Faith to let me have Glory. She showed
me the walk last summer. It is fair she should see this,
now."

So the morning odds and ends were done up quickly at
Cross Corners and at the Old House, and then Faith and
Glory set forth together, — the latter in as sublime a rap
ture as could consist with mortal cohesion.

The common road-side was an enchanted path. The glit
tering rime transfigured the very cart-ruts into bars of silver;
and every coarse weed was a fretwork of beauty.

" Bells on their toes " they had, this morning, assuredly ;
each footfall made a music on the sod.

And the fringes up and down the brook-side ! In and
out the arches of his rare "ice-palace," leaped the frost-
defying current, dashing new jewels right and left, like a
king scattering largess as he rides along !

Over the slippery bridge, — out across a stretch of open
meadow, and then along a track that skirted the border of
a sparse growth of trees, projecting itself like a promontory

FAITH GAETNEY'S GIRLHOOD. 155

upon the level land, — round its abrupt angle into a sweep
of meadow again, on whose farther verge rose the Pasture
Rocks. This was their way.

Behind these rocks swelled up gently a slope, half pasture,
half woodland, — neither open ground nor forest; but, al
though clear enough for comfortable walking, studded pretty
closely with trees that often interlaced their branches over
head, and made great, pillared aisles, among whose shade,
in summer, wound delicious little foot-paths that all came
out together, midway up, into — what you shall be told of
presently.

Around the borders of the meadows they had crossed,
grew luxuriant elms, that made, with their low, sweeping
boughs, festoons, and bowers, and far-off mounds of light.

Here, among and beyond the rocks, were oaks, and pines,
and savins, — each needle-like leaf a shimmering lance, —
each clustering branch a spray of gems, — and the stout,
spreading limbs of the oaks delineating themselves against
the sky above in Gothic frost-work.

Great icicles hung from points of craggy stone, and
dropped, crashing in the stillness, from tips of branches
that overhung them as they went This, with now and
then a chick-a-dee's note, was all the winter music of the
woods. But the grandeur of that silence! The awe of
standing there, with the flashing groins of those wild and
mighty arches overhead, and the low wind whispering
through, like an awaking organ, and the sunlight coming
down out of the blue above, and penetrating in broad
gleams, like a living Presence !

One chant reiterated itself in Faith's soul, as she gazed
and listened. " The Lord is in His Holy Temple ; let all
the earth keep silence before Him! "

156 FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD.

As for Glory, she walked on, in a hushed joy, as if aa
angel led her.

Suddenly, — before they thought it could be so near, —
they came up and out into a broader opening. Between two
rocks that made, as it were, a gate-way, and around whose
bases were grouped sentinel evergreens, they came into this
wider space, floored with flat rock, the surface of a hidden
ledge, carpeted with crisp mosses in the summer, whose
every cup and hollow held a jewel now, — and enclosed
with lofty oaks and pines, while, straight beyond, where
the woods shut in again far closer than below, rose a bold
crag, over whose brow hung pendent birches that in their
icy robing drooped like glittering wings of cherubim above
an altar.

All around and underneath, this strange magnificence.
Overhead, the everlasting Blue, that roofed it in with sap
phire. In front, the rough, gigantic shrine.

" It is like a cathedral ! " said Faith, solemnly and low.

" See ! " whispered Glory, catching her companion hastily
by the arm, — " there is the minister ! "

A little way .beyond them, at the right, out from among
the clumps of evergreen where some other of the little wood-
walks opened, a figure advanced without perceiving them
It was Roger Armstrong, the new minister. He held hia
hat in his hand. He walked, uncovered, as he would have
done into a church, into this forest temple, where God'a
finger had just been writing on the walls.

When he turned, slowly, his eye fell on the other two
who stood there. It lighted up with a quick joy of sympa
thy. He came forward. Faith bowed. Glory stood back,
shyly. Neither party seemed astonished at the meeting. It
was so plain why they came, that if they had wondered ai

FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD. 157

all, it would have been that the whole village should not be
pouring out hither, also.

Mr. Armstrong led them to the centre of the rocky space.
" This is the best point," said he. And then was silent
There was no need of words. A greatness of thought made
itself felt from one to the other, without expression.

Only, between still pauses, words came that almost spoke
themselves.

" ' Eye hath not seen, nor hath it entered into the heart
of man to conceive, that which God hath prepared for them
that love him.' What a commentary upon His promise is a
glory like this ! "

" ' And they shall all shine like the sun in the kingdom
of my Father!'"

Faith stood by the minister's side, and glanced, when he
spoke, from the wonderful beauty before her to a face whose
look interpreted it all. There was something in the very
presence of this man that drew others who approached him
into the felt presence of God. Because he stood therein in
the spirit. These are the true apostles whom Christ senda
forth.

Glory could have sobbed with an oppression of reverence,
enthusiasm, and joy.

"It is only a glimpse," said Mr. Armstrong, by-and-by.
"It is going, already."

A drip — drip — was beginning to be heard in the woods.

" You ought to get away from under the trees before the
thaw comes fully on," continued he. "A branch breaks,
now and then, and the ice will be falling constantly, when
it onoe begins to loosen. I can show you a more open way
than the one you came by, I think."

And he gave his arm to Faith over the slope that ^^n
H

158 FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD.

now was growing wet and slippery in the sun. Faith touched
it with a reverence, and dropped it again, modestly, wheii
they reached a safer foothold.

Uiory kept behind. Mr. Armstrong turned now and then,
with a kindly word, and a thought for her safety. Once he
took her hand, and helped her down, a sudden descent in
the path, where the water had run over and made a smooth,
dangerous glare.

" I shall call soon to see your father and mother, Miss
Gartney," said he, when they reached the road again beyond
the brook, and their ways home lay in different directions.
" This meeting, to-day, has given me pleasure."

" How ? " Faith wondered silently, as she kept on to the
Cross Corners. She had hardly spoken a word. But, then,
she might have remembered that the minister's own worda
had been few, yet her very speechlessness before him had
come from the deep pleasure that his presence had given
to her. The recognition of souls cares little for words.
Faith's soul had been in her face to-day, as Roger Arm
strong had seen it each Sunday, also, in the sweet, listen
ing look she uplifted before him in the church. He bent
towards this young, pure life, with a joy in its gentle
purity; the joy of an elder over a younger angel in the
school of God.

And Glory ? she laid up in her own heart a beautiful
remembrance of something she had never known before.
Of a near approach to something great and high, yet gentle
and beneficent. Of a kindly, helping touch, a gracious
smile, a glance that spoke straight to the mute aspiration
within her.

The minister had not failed, through all her humbleness
and shyness, to read some syllables of that large, unuttered

FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD. 159

life of hers that lay beneath. He whose labor it is to save
souls, learns always the insight that discerns souls.

" I have seen the Winter ! " cried Faith, glowing and
joyous, as she came in from her walk.

" It has been a beautiful time ! " said Glory to her
shadow-sister, when she went to hang away hood and
shawl. "It has been a beautiful time, — and T 'TO been
really in it, — partly J "

CHAPTER XVIli.

OUT IN THE SNOW.

" Sydneian showers
Of sweet discourse, whose powers
C«n crown old winter's bead with flowers."

CRASHAW.

WINTER had not exhausted her repertory, however. She
had more wonders to unfold.

There came a long snow-storm.

Steadily, patiently, persistently, the tiny flakes came
down out of a great, gray, inexhaustible gloom above, and
fell, each to its appointed place, rounding up and out,
everywhere, the marvellous sculpture that is builded, not
chiselled, and transforming common things into shapes of
dreamy grace and splendor. Stilly and surely, — all day,
all night, almost all day again, — the work of atoms went
on mightily ; till the clouds, like artists falling back before
their finished work, parted, and let in the sun to look on
what they had achieved. Then fell an afternoon effulgence
over all. Peaks and mounds and drifts glanced in a rosy
light. The great trees held their branches in a breathless
quietness, lest their perfect draperies should be disturbed.
There was a strange hush in nature. The world was muffled.
All the indefinite stir that tells us in the stillest of other
scenes, that a deep, palpitating life goes on under whatever

FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD. \£\

look of rest the earth assumes, was covered and soundless
now. It was a pause of pure completeness.

" Faithie," said her father, coming in, wrapped up in furs,
from a visit to the stable, " put your comfortables on, and
we '11 go and see the snow. We '11 make tracks, literally, for
the hills. There is n't a road fairly broken between here
and Grcver's Peak. The snow lies beautifully, though ; and
there isn't a breath of wind. It will be a sight to see."

Faith brought, quickly, sontag, jacket, and cloak, — hood
and veil, and long, warm snow-boots, and in ten minutes
was ready, as she averred, for a sledge ride to Hudson's Bay.

Luther drove the sleigh close to the kitchen door, that
Faith might not have to cross the yard to reach it, and she
stepped directly from the threshold into the warm nest of
buffalo-robes ; while Mis' Battis put a great stone jug of
hot water in beside her feet, asserting that it was " a real
comfortin' thing on a sleigh-ride, and that they need n't be
afraid of its leakin', for the cork was druv in as tight as an
eye-tooth ! "

So, out by the barn, into the road, and away from the
village toward the hills, they went, with the glee of resonant
bells and excited expectation.

A mile, or somewhat more, along the Sedgely turnpike,
took them into a bit of woods that skirted the road on either
side, for a considerable distance. Away in, under the trees,
the stillness and the whiteness and the wonderful multipli
cation of snow-shapes were like enchantment. Each bush
had an attitude and drapery and expression of its own, as
if some weird life had suddenly been epell-bound in these
depths. Cherubs, and old women, and tall statue-shapes
like images of gods, hovered, and bent, and stood majestic,
in a motionless poise. Over all, the bent boughs made

14*

102 FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD.

marble and silver arches in shadow and light, and, far
down between, the vistas lengthened endlessly, still crowded
with mystic figures, haunting the long galleries with their
awful beauty.

They went on, penetrating a lifeless silence ; their horse's
feet making the first prints since early morning in the un
broken smoothness of the way, and the only sound the
gentle tinkle of their own bells, as they moved pleasantly,
but not fleetly, along.

So, up the ascent, where the land lay higher, toward the
hills.

" I feel," said Faith, " as if I had been hurried through the
Louvre, or the Vatican, or both, and had n't half seen any
thing. Was there ever anything so strange and beautiful?"

" We shall find more Louvres presently," said her father.
" We '11 keep the road round Grover's Peak, and turn off,
as we come back, down Garland Lane."

" That lovely, wild, shady road we took last summer so
often, where the grape-vines grow so, all over the tree5* ? "

"Exactly," replied Mr. Gartney. "But you mustn't
scream if we thump about a little, in the drifts up there.
It 's pretty rough, at the best of times, and the snow will
have filled in the narrow spaces between the rocks and
ridges, like a freshet. Shall you be afraid ? "

Afraid ! Oh, no, indeed ! It 's glorious ! I think I
should like to go everywhere ! "

" There is a good deal of everywhere in every little dis
tance," said Mr. Gartney. " People get into cars, and go
whizzing across whole States, often, before they stop to
thoroughly enjoy something that is very like what they
might have found within ten miles of home. For my part,
I like microscopic journeying."

fAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD. 163

;' Leaving 'no stone unturned.' So do I," said Faith.
"We don't half know the journey between Kinnicutt
and Sedgely yet, I think. And then, too, they 're multi
plied, over and over, by all the different seasons, and by
different sorts of weather. Oh, we shan't use them up, in
a long while ! "

Saidie Gartney had not felt, perhaps, in all her European
travel, the sense of inexhaustible pleasure that Faith had
when she said this.

Down under Grover's Peak, with the river on one side,
and the white-robed cedar thickets rising on the other, —
with the low afternoon sun glinting across from the frosted
roofs of the red mill-buildings and barns and farm-houses
to the rocky slope of the Peak, where pines and cedars and
hemlocks stood, like sheeted sentinels, and from every
crevice sprang a sturdy shrub in grotesque disguise, like a
gnome guarding or indicating treasure, — they seemed to
go, as Faith said, " right into a fairy tale ; " the wild forms
and aspects of nature blending so wiih the signs of sim
ple, human life. She could fancy a bold peasant, coming
up from the little settlement beneath to his wood-piles on
the steep hill-side, encountering strange adventures there
among the crags ; and that the sprite-like apparitions
gleaming out so in the twilight of the place, watched and
presided, elfishly, over the mortal haps below. Certain
physical aspects transport us, mysteriously, into certain
mental atmospheres. She got a flavor of Grimm and An
dersen, here, under Grover's Peak.

TEfcn they came round and up again, over a southerly
ridge, by beautiful Garland Lane, that she knew only in
Us summer look, when the wild grape festooned itself
wantonly from branch to branch, and sometimes, even,

164 FAITH GAKTNEY'S GIRLHOOD.

from side to side ; and so gave the narrow forest-road iti
name.

Quite into fairy-land they had come now, in truth ; as if,
skirting the dark peak that shut it off from ordinary espial,
they had lighted on a by-path that led them covertly in.
Trailing and climbing vines wore their draperies lightly ,
delicate shrubs bowed like veiled shapes in groups around
the bases of tall tree-trunks, and slight-stemmed birches
quivered under their canopies of snow. Little birds hopped
in and out under the pure, still shelter, and left their tiny
tracks, like magical hieroglyphs, in the else untrodden
paths.

"Lean this way, Faith, and keep steady!" cried Mr.
Gartney, as the horse plunged breast-high into a drift, and
the sleigh careened toward the side Faith was on. It waa
a sharp strain, but they ploughed their way through, and
came upon a level again. This by-street was literally un
broken. No one had traversed it since the beginning of the
storm. The drifts had had it all their own way there, and
it involved no little adventurousness and risk, as Mr. Grizt
ney began to see, to pioneer a passage through. But tne
spirit of adventure was upon them both. On all, I should
say; for the strong horse plunged forward, from drift to
drift, as though he delighted in the encounter. Moreover,
to turn was impossible.

Faith laughed, and gave little shrieks, alternately, aa
they rose triumphantly from deep, " slumpy " hollows, or
pitched headlong into others again. Thus, struggling, en
joying, — just frightened" enough, now and then, to keep up
the excitement, — they came upon the summit of the ridge.
Now their way lay downward. This began to look really
»l»uost perilous. With careful guiding, however, and skilful

FAITH GARTNET'S GIRLHOOD. 165

balancing, — tipping, creaking, sinking, emerging, — they
kept on slowly, about half the distance down the descent.

The sagacious horse grew warier at every step. He
t seemed to understand the difficulty and the danger. Lift
ing his fore feet high, one after the other, with tremendous
strides, he would reach them on, ind plant them deep in
• the uncertain drifts, and then, with a strain and a xug,
bring hinder feet and all his burden after.

In th. intervals of immediate excitement and anxiety,
Faith took in the wonderful, almost mountainous aspect of
the snow-piled group of hills they were among. It was
wild, dreary, solitary. Not 'a house was to be seen. There
were, in fact, none nearer than the little settlement at
Grover's Mills. Down below them wound the level road
which they had to regain.

Suddenly, the horse, as men and brutes, however saga
cious, sometimes will, made a miscalculation of depth or
power, — lost his sure balance, — sunk to his body in the
yielding snow, — floundered violently in an endeavor to
regain safe footing, — and, snap ! crash ! was down against
the drift at the left, with a broken shaft under him !

Mr. Gartney sprang to his head.

One runner was up, — one down. The sleigh stuck fast
at an angle of about thirty degrees. Faith clung to the
upper side.

Here was a situation ! What was to be done ? Twilight
joming on, — no help near, — no way of getting anywhere !

"Faith," said Mr. Gartney, " what have you got on youi
feet?"

" Long, thick snow-boots, father. What can I do ? "

" Do you dare to ccme and try to unfasten these buckles'/
There is no danger. Major can't stir while I hold him by
the head."

166 FAITH GAUTNEY'S GIRLHOOD.

Faith jumped out into the snow, and valorously set to
work at the buckles. She managed to undo one, and to
slip out the fastening of the trace, on one side, where it held
to the whiffletree. But the horse was lying so that she
could not get at the other.

" I '11 come there, father ! " she cried, clambering and
struggling through the drift till she came to the horse's
head. " Can't I hold him while you undo the har
ness ? "

" I don't believe you can, Faithie. He is n't down so flat
as to be quite under easy control/'

" Not if I sit on his head ? " asked Faith, seeing that
her father simply pressed with both hands downward
upon it.

" That might do," replied her father, laughing. "Only
you would get frightened, maybe, and jump up too soon."

" No, I won't," said Faith, quite determined upon hero
ism. While she spoke, she had picked up the whip, which
had fallen close by, doubled back the lash against the handle,
and was tying her blue veil to its tip. Then she sat down
on the animal's great cheek, which she had never fancied to
be half so broad before, and gently patted his nose with one
hand, while she upheld her blue flag with the other. Major's
big, panting breaths came up, close beside her face. She
kept a quick, watchful eye upon the road below.

"He 's as quiet as can be, father! It must be what Misa
Reeoher called the ' chivalry of horses ! ' '

"It's the chivalry that has to develop under petticoat
government!" retorted Mr. Gartney, glancing at the meek
nose that projected itself beyond the sweep of crinoline, a8
he came nearer to unbuckle the saddle-girth

At this moment Faith's blue fla<r waved vehemently over

FAITH GARTNEF'S GIRLHOOD. 167

her head. She had caught the jingle of bells, and perceived
a sleigh, with a man in it, come out into the crossing at the
foot of Garland Lane. The man descried the signal and
the disaster, and the sleigh stopped. Alighting, he led hia
horse to the fence, fastened him there, and turning aside
into the steep, narrow, unbroken road, began a vigorous
struggle through the drifts to reach the wreck.

Coming nearer, he discerned and recognized Mr. Gartney,
who also, at the same moment, was aware of him. It waa
Mr. Armstrong.

"Keep still a minute longer, Faith," said her father, lift
ing the remaining shaft against the dasher, and trying to
push the sleigh back, away from the animal. But this,
alone, he was unable to accomplish. He was forced to
await the arrival of his timely helper. So the minister
came up, and found Faith still seated on the horse's bead.

" Miss Gartney! Let me hold him! " cried he, advanc
ing to relieve her.

"I'm quite comfortable!" laughed Faith. "If you
would just help my father, please ! I could n't do that
BO well."

The sleigh was drawn back by the combined effort of the
two gentlemen, and then both came quickly round to Faith.

" Now, Faith, jump! " said her father, placing his hands
upon the creature's temple, close beside her, while Mr. Arm
strong caught her arms to snatch her safely away. Faith
sprang, or was lifted as she sprang, quite to the top of the
huge bank of snow under and against which they had, among
them, beaten in and trodden down such a hollow, and the
uistant after, Mr. Gartney releasing Major's head, and ut
tering a sound of encouragement, the horse raised himsel f,
with a half roll, and a mighty scramble, first to his kneea

168 FAITH GARTNEY 'S GIRLHOOD.

and then to his four feet again, and shook his great ekiu,
and all his loosened trappings, with an enormous shudder,
to scatter the snow. Then he looked round, with an ex-
pression of undeserved discomfiture. He was like a gen
eral who has planned well, and fought well, but, by a sheei
misfortune, has lost his battle, and stands for the world tc
look upon him as it may.

Mr. Gartney examined the harness. The broken shaft
proved the extent of damage done. This, at the moment,
however, was irremediable. He knotted the hanging straps
and laid them over the horse's neck. Then he folded a
buffalo-skin, and arranged it, as well as he could, above
and behind the saddle, which he secured again by its girth.

" Mr. Armstrong," said he, as he completed this disposal
of matters, " you came along in good time. I am very
much obliged to you. If you will do me the further favor
to take my daughter home, I will ride to the nearest house
where I can obtain a sleigh, and some one to send back for
these traps of mine."

"Miss Gartney," said the minister, in answer, "can you
sit a horse's back as well as you did his eyebrow?"

Faith laughed, and reaching her arms to the hands up
held for them, was borne safely from her snowy pinnacle to
the buffalo cushion. Her father took the horse by the bit,
and Mr. Armstrong kept at his side holding Faith firmly
to her seat. In this fashion, grasping the bridle with one
hand, and resting the other on Mr. Armstrong's shoulder,
she was transported somewhat roughly, but not uncomfw'-t-
ably, to the sleigh at the foot of the hill.

"We were talking about long journeys in small circuits,"
Baid Faith, when she was well tucked in, and they had set
off" easily and with tolerable rapidity on a level and nol

FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD. 169

utterly untracked road. " I think I have been to the Al-
hatnbra, and to Rome, and have had a peep into fairy-land,
and come back, at last, over the Alps!"

Mr. Armstrong understood her. It is such a comfort to
know one's hearer will !

" It has been beautiful," said he. After a little pause, —
" I shall begin to expect always to encounter you whenever
I get among things wild and wonderful ! "

"And yet I have lived all my life, till now, in tame
Streets," said Faith. " I thought I was getting into tamer
places still, when we first came to the country. But I am
finding out Kinnicutt. One can't see the whole of anything
at once."

" We are small creatures, and can only pick up atoms aa
we go, whether of things outward or inward. People talk
about taking ' comprehensive views ; ' and they suppose they
do it. There is only One who does."

Faith was silent.

" Did it ever occur to you," said Mr. Armstrong, "how
little your thought can really grasp at once, even of what
you already know? How narrow your mental horizon is?"

Faith looked up with a timid flash of questioning intelli
gence. Her silence asked him to say more.

" Literally, I mean," continued the minister. " How
little we clearly conceive of what we think we have learned
longest and best? For instance, Arithmetic. We have
what we call a science of numbers, and we talk about num
bers, and manage them on paper ; but how many separate
things that numbers stand for, can you think of at once 1
Suppose they were only apples, lying on a table ? "

Faith laughed, and then considered.

"Twenty — five, perhaps," said she.
15

170 FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD.

"Ah, you multiply!" said Mr. Armstrong. "You are
thinking of five times five ! "

"Yes, I was," she answered, with an amused thoughtful-
ness. " J must come down to five," said she, frankly, after
a pause. " Six are twice three."

" You come down to your five fingers, to speak with the
common latitude," said Mr. Armstrong. " That seems to
be the foundation and the limit. Yet, there is One who
knoweth ' all the cedars of Lebanon,' and the ' cattle upon
a thousand hills.' Who notes every sparrow as it falls, and
'numbers the very hairs of our heads.' "

"We do think of large numbers, in the abstract, though,"
said Faith, after a minute's hushed reception of that last
thought.

"Yes, but how?" replied the minister, " I'll tell yon
how I do it. I wonder if your way is at all like mine.
Do you fancy the figures, from one to one hundred, ranged
in three sides of a parallelogram, with the tens a little
taller than the rest, and the corners turned somewhere
about twenty and eighty?"

Faith's face brightened all over with a surprised recog
nition of something in another that she had imagined all
her own.

" That is so strange ! " she exclaimed. " But why do
you turn those sharp corners ? My numbers stand round
in a smooth semicircle."

Mr. Armstrong laughed. "The difference of minds,"
said he. " Yours seems to be spherical, — mine angular."

" Then there are the days, and the months," said Faith.

" Yes," replied Mr. Armstrong. " Eeally, the days and
months are nowhere, except as the globe measures them out
in space, and the sunlight scores them between the poles

FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD. 171

hut I see them stretching out, before and after, in little Vb-
long mosaics, set in lines, for weeks and years."

" And the Sundays a little longer and wider and whiter
than the rest," put in Faith. " And the nights are the
broad, black spaces between."

"I think my nights are steps down, from one day to
another, and of no perceptible length or color. At least,
that is what they used to be when I was a child, and I have
never got rid of the old image."

" Then," resumed the minister, "what sort of Geography
do we really learn ? How much of a notion do we get of
Europe and Asia, Africa and America ? For me, I 've got a
littlo spectrum of an Atlas in my head, and that is all. My
idea of the whole globe would n't cover the space we have
to traverse between here and Cross Corners. Just look out
there to the west," continued he, pointing toward the sunset,
" and remember that you only see three or four miles, and
then think of all the rest that lies between this and the
Hudson, and of New York, and Ohio, and Indiana, and
Illinois ! We can no more picture the outstretch of the
continent, — away out beyond the Green Kidge, and the
Catskills, and the Great Lakes, and the Mississippi, and
the Rocky Mountains, to the forests of Oregon and the
beaches of the Pacific, — than we can take eternity into our
thought ! "

" Don't it seem strange," said Faith, in a subdued tone,
» that it should all have been made for such little lives to
be lived in, each in its corner ? "

"If it did not thereby prove these little lives to be but
the beginning. This great Beyond that we get glimpses of,
even upon earth, makes it so sure to us that there must be
an Everlasting Life, to match the Infinite Creation God

172 FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD.

puts us, as He did Moses, into a cleft of the rock, that we
may catch a glimmer of His glory as He goes by ; and then
He tells us that one day we " shall know even as also we
are known ! "

" And I suppose it ought to make us satisfied to live
whatever little life is given us ? " said Faith, gently and
wistfully.

Mr. Armstrong turned toward her, and looked earnestly
into her eyes.

" Has that thought troubled you, too? Never let it do so
again, my child ! Believe that however little of tangible
present good you may have, you have the unseen good of
heaven, and the promise of all things to come."

" But we do see lives about us in the world that seem to
be and to accomplish so much ! "

" And so we ask why ours should not be like them ? Yes;
all souls that aspire, must question that ; but the answer
comes! I will give you, some day, if you like, the thought
that comforted me at a time when that question was a
struggle."

" I should like ! " said Faith, with deeply stirred and
grateful emphasis.

Then they drove on in silence, for awhile ; and then the
minister, pleasantly and easily, brought on a conversation
of every-day matters ; and so they came to Cross Corners,
just as Mrs. Gartney was gazing a little anxiously out of
the window, down the road.

" Father is coming," said Faith, reassuringly, the instant
the door was opened. " We broke a shaft in getting through
a great drift, and he had to go and borrow a sleigh. Mr.
Armstrong has been kind enough to bring me home, mother."

Mrs. Gartney urged the minister to come in and join them

FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD. 173

at the tea-table ; but " it was late in the week, — he had
writing to finish at home that evening, — he would very
gladlv r-ome nnother time "

" Mother ! " cried Faith, presently, moving out of a dream
in which she had been sitting before the fire, — "I wonder
whether it has been two hours, or two weeks, or two years,
since we set off from the kitchen door ! I have seen so much,
and I have heard so much. I told Mr. Armstrong, after
we met him, that I had been through the Alhambra and
the Vatican, and into fairy-land, and over the Alps. And
after that, mother," she added, low, " 1 think he almost
took me into heaven ! "
15*

CHAPTER XIX.

A " LEADING."

* The levt flower, with a brimming cup, may stand
And share its dew-drop with another near."

MRS. BROWM rao.

GLORY McWniRK was waiting up stairs, in Faith's pretty,
white, dimity-bung chamber.

These two girls, of such utterly different birth and train
ing, were drawing daily toward each other across the gulf
of social circumstance that separated them. They were
together in Mr. Armstrong's Bible Class. Sunday after
Sunday, they sat side by side, and received the same beau
tiful interpretation of truth into eager, listening souls.
And, as Aunt Henderson said, " when we take our Bible-
meat together, why not the meat that perisheth ? "

Faith Gartney came to know much of Glory's secret inner
nature and wants. And from sitting down together some
times on a Saturday afternoon in the southwest room at the
old house, to look over the lesson for the Sunday, there
grew up a little plan of kindliness and benefit between
them.

Twice a week, now, Glory came over, and found her seat
and her books ready in Miss Faith's pleasant room, and
Faith herself waiting to impart to her, or to put her in the

FAITH GARTNEY'S C.IRLHOOD. 175

way of gathering, those bits of week-day knowledge sho
had ignorantly hungered for so long.

Glory made quick progress. A good, plain, foundation
had been laid during the earlier period of her stay witK
Miss Henderson, by a regular attendance, half-daily, at the
district school. Aunt Faith said "nobody's time belonged
to anybody that knew better themselves, until they could
read, and write, and figure, and tell which side of the globe
they lived on." Then, too, the girl's indiscriminate glean
ing from such books as had come in her way, through all
these years, assorted itself gradually, now, about new facts,
like patchwork that had been laid by in bits, confusedly,
but began to be arranged in symmetry, and to grow toward
a whole. Or rather, — for knowledge, in its accretion, fol
lows such law, — that which had been held loosely, as par-
licles, in solution, gathered and crystallized, — each atom
finding its sure place, aud building up forms of light and
beauty.

Glory's " good times " had, verily, begun at last.

On this day that she sat waiting, Faith had been called
down by her mother to receive some village ladies who had
walked over to Cross Corners to pay a visit. Glory had time
for two or three chapters of " Ivanhoe," and to tell Hendie,
who strayed in, and begged for it, Bridget Foye's old story
of the little red hen, while the regular course of topics waa
gone through below, of the weather, — the new minister, —
the last meeting of the Dorcas Society, — the everlasting
wants and helplessness of Mrs. Shefflcy and her seven chil
dren, and whether the society had better do anything more
for them, — the trouble in the west district school, and the
question "where the Dorcas bag was to go next time."

A \ ^st, the voices and footsteps retreated, through the

176 FAITH OARTNET'S GIRLHOOD.

entry, the door closed somewhat promptly as the last "good-
afternoon " was said, and Faith sprang up the narrow stair
case.

There were a lesson in Geography, and a bit of Natural
Philosophy to be done first, and then followed their Bible
talk ; for this was Saturday.

Before Glory went it had come to be Faith's practice always
to read to her some bit of poetry, — a gem from Tennyson
or Mrs. Browning, or a stray poem from a magazine or paper
which she had laid by as worthy. This was as we give
children a cake or a sugar-plum, at parting, to carry away
with them.

"Glory," said she, to-day, "I'm going to let you share
a little treasure of mine, — something Mr. Armstrong gave
me."

Glory's eyes deepened and glowed.

"It is thoughts," said Faith. " Thoughts in verse. I
shall read it to you, because I think it will just answer you,
as it did me. Don't you feel, sometimes, like a little brook
in a deep wood?"

Glory's gaze never moved from Faith's face. Her poeti
cal instinct seized the image, and the thought of her life
applied it.

"All alone, and singing to myself? Yes, I did, Miss
Faith. But I think it is growing lighter and pleasanter
every day. I think I am getting — "

" Stop! stop!" said Faith. " Don't steal the verses be
fore I read them! You 're such a queer child, Glory! One
never can tell you anything. You have always all but got
it, already."

And then Faith gave her pearls ; because she knew they
would not be trampled under foot, but taken into a heart

FAITH GAETNEY'S GIRLHOOD. 177

and held there ; and because just such a rapt and reverent
ecstasy as her own had been when the minister had given
her, in fulfilment of his promise, this thought of his for the
comfort that was in it, looked out from the face that wag
uplifted to hers, radiant with a joy like that of one taken
into converse with the angels.

" Up in the wild, where no one comes to look,
There lives and sings, a little lonely brook ;
Liveth and siugeth in the dreary pines,
Yet creepeth on to where the daylight shines.

" Pure from their heaven, in mountain chalice caught,
It drinks the rains, as drinks the soul her thought;
And down dun hollows, where it winds along,
Bears its life-burden of unlistened song.

" I catch the murmur of its undertone
That sigheth, ceaselessly, — alone! alone!
And hear, afar, the Rivers gloriously
Shout on their paths toward the shining sea !

" The voiceful Rivers, chanting to the sun ;
And wearing names of honor, every one ;
Outreaching wide, and joining hand with hand
To pour great gifts along the asking land.

•• Ah, lonely brook ! creep onward through the pinea !
Press through the gloom, to where the daylight shinei !
Sing on among the stones, and secretly
Feel how the floods are all akin to thee !

" Drink the sweet rain the gentle heaven sendeth ;
Hold thine own path, howeverward it tcndeth ;
For, somewhere, underneath the eternal sky,
Thou, too, shall find the Rivers, by-and-by ! "

Faith's voice trembled with earnestness as she finished.
When she looked up from the paper as she refolded it,
tears of feeling were running down Glory's cheeks.

" Why, the little brook has overflowed ! " cried Faith,

178 FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD.

playfully. If she had not found thia to say, she would
have cried, herself.

"Miss Faith!" said Glory, "I aint sure whether I was
meant to tell ; but do you know what the minister haa
asked Miss Henderson ? Perhaps she won't ; I 'm afraid
not ; it would be too good a time ! but he wants her to let
him come and board with her ! Just think what it would
be for him to be in the house with us all the time ! Why,
Miss Faith, it would be just as if one of those great Kivers
had come rolling along through the dark woods, right among
the little lonely brooks ! "

Faith made no answer. She was astonished. Miss Hen
derson had said nothing of it. She never did make known
her subjects of deliberation till the deliberations had be
come conclusions.

" Why, you don't seem glad ! "

"I am glad," said Faith, slowly and quietly. She was
strangely conscious at the moment that she said so, glad as
she would be if Mr. Armstrong were really to come so near,
and she might see him daily, of a half-jealousy that Glory
should be nearer still.

It was quite true that Mr. Armstrong had this wish.
Hitherto, he had been at the house of the elder minister,
Mr. Holland. But the three months had expired, — Mr.
Holland, convinced by continued weakness and the growing
infirmities of his age that his active labors were ended, had
offered his resignation of the parochial charge ; and this
having been accepted, a unanimous invitation had been
given to Mr. Armstrong by the people to remain among
them as their settled pastor. This he had not yet con
sented to do. But he had entered upon another engage-
aaent of six months, to preach for them. Now he needed

FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD. 179

a permanent home, which he could not conveniently have at
Mr. Holland's.

There was great putting of heads together at the "Dor
cas," about ifc.

Mrs. Gimp "would offer; but then — there was Serena,
and folks would talk."

Other families had similar holdbacks, — that is the word,
for they were not absolute insuperabilities, — wary mothers
were waiting until it should appear positively necessary that
somebody should waive objection, and take the homeless
pastor in ; and each watched keenly for the critical moment
when it should be just late enough, and not too late, for her
to yield.

Meanwhile, Mr. Armstrong quietly left all this seething,
and walked off out of the village, one day, to Cross Corners,
and asked Miss Henderson if he might have one of her
quaint, pleasant, old-fashioned rooms.

Miss Henderson was deliberating.

This very afternoon, she sat in the southwest tea-parlor,
with her knittiug forgotten in her lap, and her eyes search
ing the bright western sky, as if for a gleam that should
light her to decision.

"It aint that I mind the trouble. And it aint that there
is n't house-room. And it aint that I don't like the minis
ter," soliloquized she, after a way she had of talking over
matters to herself when she and the old house were left
dreaming together. "It's whether it would be respectable
common sense. I aint going to take the field with the
Gimps and the Leathcrbees, nor to have them think it,
either. — She 's over here almost every blessed day of her
life. I might as well try to keep the sunshine out of the
»ld house, as to keep her ; and I should be about as likely to

180 FAITH GARTNET'S GIRLHOOD.

want to do one as the other. But just let me take in Mr
Armstrong, and there 'd be all the eyes in the village
watching. There could n't so much as a cat walk in or
out, but they 'd know it, somehow. And they 'd be sure to
say she was running after the minister/'

Miss Henderson's pronouns were not precise in their
reference. It is n't necessary for soliloquy to be exact.
She understood herself, and that sufficed.

" It 's being ridiculous would n't be any argument To
be sure, he 's old enough to be her — uncle!" This was
not emphasizing the absurdity quite so strongly or so defi
nitely as she intended ; bu< \unt Faith's climaxes broke
down, unexpectedly, sometimes, just as they culminated,
because the honest fact fell short Her rhetoric might go
lame ; but the truth came never halt or maimed from her
upright handling.

" It would be a disgrace to the parish, anyhow," she
resumed, " to let those Gimps and Leatherbees get him into
their net ; and they '11 do it if Providence or somebody don't
interpose. I wish I was sure whether it was a leading or
not ! "

By-and-by, after a silent revolving, in which her kindly
inclinations toward the minister, — her memories of long
time, when that young brother wrote his first sermons in
the pleasant room she sat in now, — her shrewd reading of
plans and purposes in others, — her thought for Faith, and
her calculations about the white hangings with the ball and
fringe trimmings that must be bleached and put up if Mr.
Armstrong came, and how soon they could be ready for
him, were curiously mixed up and interwoven, — she re
verted, at last, as she always did, to that question of its
being a " leading," or not ; and, taking down the old Bible

FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD. 181

from the corner shelf, she laid it with solemnity on the little
light- stand at her side, and opened it, as she had known
her father do, in the important crises of his life, for an
" indication."

The wooden saddle and the gun were not all that had
come down to Aunt Faith from the primitive days of the
Puritan settlers.

The leaves parted at the story of the Good Samaritan.
Bible leaves are apt to part, as the heart opens, in accord
ance with long habit and holy use.

That evening, while Glory was washing up the tea-things,
Aunt Faith put on cloak and hood, and walked over to
Cross Corners.

"No — I won't take off my things," she replied to Mrs.
Gartney's advance of assistance. " I 've just come over to
tell you what I 'm going to do. I 've made up my mind to
take the minister to board. And when the washing and
ironing 's out of the way, next week, I shall fix up a room
for him, and he '11 come."

" That's a capital plan, Aunt Faith ! " said her nephew,
with a tone of pleased animation. " Cross Corners will be
undei obligation to you. Mr. Armstrong is a man whom I
greatly respect and admire."

" So do I," said Miss Henderson. "And if I did n't,
when a man is beset with thieves all the way from Jerusa
lem to Jericho, it 's time for some kind of a Samaritan to
some along !"

Next day, Mis' Battis heard the news, and had her word
of comment to offer.

•' She 's got room enough for him, if that 's all ; but I
Would n't a believed she 'd have let herself be put about
and upset so, if it was for John the Baptist 1 I always

16

182 FAITH GARTNEY*S GIRLHOOD.

thought she was setter 'n an old hen ! But then, she 'a
gittin' into years, and it 's kinder handy, I s'pose, havin' a
minister round the house, sayin' she should be took anywaya
sudden ! "

Village comments it would be needless to attempt to
chronicle.

April days began to wear t'aeir tearful beauty, and the
southwest room at the old house was given up to Mr
Armstrong.

CHAPTER XX.

PAUL.

•• Standing', with reluctant feet,
Where the brook and river meet,
Womanhood and childhood fleet ! "

LONGFELLOW.

GLORY had not been content with the utmost she could
find to do in making the southwest room as clean, and
bright, and fresh, and perfect in its appointments as her
zealous labor and Miss Henderson's nice, old-fashioned
methods and materials afforded possibility for. Twenty
times a day, during the few that intervened between its
fitting up and Mr. Armstrong's occupation of it, she darted
in, to settle a festoon of fringe, or to pick a speck from the
carpet, or to move a chair a hair's-breadth this way or
that, or to smooth an invisible crease in the counterpane,
or, above all, to take a pleased survey of everything once
more, and to wonder how the minister would like it.

So well, indeed, he liked it, when he had taken full pos
session, that he seemed to divine the favorite room must
have been relinquished to him, and to scruple at keeping it
quite solely to himself.

In the pleasant afternoons, when the spring sun got
round to his westerly windows, and away from the south

184 FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD.

east apartment, whither Miss Henderson had betaken her-
self, her knitting-work, and her Bible, and where now the
meals were always spread, he would >pen his door, and let
the pleasantness stray out across the passage, and into the
keeping-room, and would often take a book, and come in,
himself, also, with the sunlight. Then Glory, busy in the
kitchen, just beyond, would catch words of conversation, or
of reading, or even be called in to hear the latter. And
she began to think that there were good times, truly, in thia
world, and that even she was " in 'em ! "

April days, as they lengthened and brightened, brought
other things, also, to pass.

The Kushleigh party had returned from Europe.

Faith had a note from Margaret The second wedding
was close at hand, and would she not come down ?

But her services as bridesmaid were not needed this
time ; there was nothing so exceedingly urgent in the invi
tation, — Faith's intimacy was with the Eushleighs, not
the Livingstons, — that she could not escape its acceptance
if she desired ; and so — there was a great deal to be done
in summer preparation, which Mis' Battis, with her delib
erate dignity, would never accomplish alone ; also, there
was the forget-me-not ring lying in her box of ornaments,
that gave her a little troubled perplexity as often as she
saw it there ; and Faith excused herself in a graceful little
note, and staid at Cross Corners, helping her mother fold
away the crimson curtains, and get up the white muslin
ones, make up summer sacks for Hendie, and retouch her
own simple wardrobe, which this year could receive little
addition.

Kind, sisterly fingers helped Hendie now, in his morning
robings ; and sweet words and pretty stories replaced the

FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD. 185

old, taunting rhyme ; and there were little, easy, pleasant
lessons after the rooms were all made nice for the day ; and
on Sunday there was a special happy walk up over the
Ridge, whon Faith simplified for him and made beautiful
to his childish comprehension the truth, whatever it might
have been, that a stronger soul had fed herself with, a few
hours before.

Faith was finding work, daily, at her hand, to do. The
lessons with Glory went on ; and the Bible-class, — Faith's
one great, weekly joy, — to which Mr. Armstrong walked
with them, in the bright, balmy, Sunday mornings, giving
them beautiful words, or keeping beautiful silence as they
went, so that, like the disciples, journeying toward Emmau?,
"their hearts burned within them by the way.'' After the
Sunday-school, Glory disappeared into her corner seat in
Miss Henderson's pew, and when the service in church was
ended, took her quiet and speedy way home, alone, reaching
it enough earlier than her mistress to have removed her out
side garments, put on a clean calico apron, and begun to
dish the simple dinner by the time Miss Henderson and
Mr. Armstrong came in.

However joyfully and gratefully she might feel herself
welcomed upon equal ground where all are indeed equal,
she was never led into any forgetfulness, thereby, of the
difference of outward position, and of daily duty. Perhaps
they whom God in His wise will, may have placed a little
higher by gift and opportunity, lessen really nothing of
their height to the eyes of others below, when they reach
down willing hands to draw them, also, up.

One day, Aunt Faith had twisted her foot by a slip upon
ihc stairs, aud was kept at home. Glory, of course, waa
obliged to remain also, as Miss Henderson was confined,
helpless, to her chair or sofa.

136 FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD.

Faith Gartney and the minister walked down the pleas
ant lane, and along the quiet road to the village church,
together.

Faith had fresh, white ribbons, to-day, upon her simple
straw bonnet, and delicate flowers and deep green leaves
about her face. She seemed like an outgrowth of the morn
ing, so purely her sweet look and fair unsulliedness of attire
reflected and interpreted, as it were, the significance of the
day's own newness and beauty.

" Do you know," said Mr. Armstrong, presently, after
the morning greeting had passed, and they had walked a
few paces, silently, "do you know that you are one of
Glory's saints, Miss Faith ? "

" Faith's wondering eyes looked out their questioning
astonishment from a deep rosiness that overspread her face.

The minister was not apt to make remarks of at all a
personal bearing. Neither was this allusion to sainthood
quite to have been looked for, from his lips. Faith could
scarcely comprehend.

" I found her this morning, as I came out to cross the
field, sitting on the door-stone with her Bible and a rosary
of beautiful, small, variously-tinted shells upon her lap. I
stopped to speak with her, and asked leave to look at them.
• They were given to me when I was very little,' she said.
' A lady sent them from Eome. The Pope blessed them ! '
' They are very beautiful,' I said, ' and a blessing, if that
mean a true man's prayer, can never be worthless. But —
I asked her, ' do you use these, Glory? ' ' Not as she did
once,' she said. She had almost forgotten about that. She
Knew the larger beads stood for saints, and the smaller onea
between were prayers. ' But,' she went on, • it is n't for
my prayers I keep them now. I've named some of my

FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD. 187

saints' beads for the people that have done me the most
good in my life, and been the kindest to me ; and the little
ones are thoughts, and things they 've taught me. This
large one, with the queer spots, is Miss Henderson ; and
this lovely rose-colored one is Miss Faith ; and these are
Katie Eyan and Bridget Foye ; but you don't know about
them. ' And then she timidly told me that the white one
next the cross was mine. The child humbled me, Miss
Faith ! It is nearly fearful, sometimes, to get a glimpse of
what one is to some trustful human soul, who looks through
one toward the Highest ! "

Faith had tears in her eyes.

"Glory is such a strange girl," said she. "She seema
to have an instinct for things that other people are educated
up to."

" She has seized the spirit of the dead Roman calendar,
and put it into this rosary. Our saints are the spirits
through whom God wills to send us of His own. What
ever becomes to us a channel of His truth and love we
must involuntarily canonize and consecrate. Woe, if by
the same channel ever an offence cometh ! "

"I never thought of it before," said Faith ; "but I don't
wonder the Romans like to believe as they do about the
saints and the pope. If it only were true that we could
know exactly into whose hands had come down directly
what Christ gave to Peter ! "

"We know what is better," said Mr. Armstrong. "We
know that we can stand by Christ's side with Peter, and
receive it to ourselves."

Faith's lips parted eagerly, and then closed again, liko
one afraid to speak.

" What is it, my child? " asked the minister, with a kind
persuasiveness.

188 FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD.

"Mr. Armstrong! " said Faith, "you draw me out to aay
things ttat I wonder, afterward, how I have dared ! I sup
pose it is wrong — it must be — but I cannot help thinking,
sometimes, why our Saviour did not come into the world to
stay ! It wants him so."

"Does He not stay?"

" In the way you mean — yes," replied Faith, gently and
fearfully. " But that is so hard for people to believe and
remember."

" I mean a& literal a thing as the truth can be. I mean
that when Christ said, ' I am with you to the end of the
world,' he only said that which was — which, by the lawa
of things, could not help being — simply, and without met-
aphor, true."

Faith almost paused in her walk to listen.

"Events and deeds are not done with in the moment they
are enacted. Does a sublime instant in history pass by into
nothingness, except for the memory that it has been ? God
is the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob He is not the
God of the dead, but of the living. It is only our finiteness
that compels us to receive in succession, and pass over into
what we call the past. The past is back again to whatever
soul, by sympathy, lives keenly in any instant of it. It is
all God's Present. We need not say, ' Oh, if we had lived
in the days when Christ walked here upon the earth ! '
We do live wherever we truly find our life. Christ's Life
— every moment of it — is an everlasting Presence in the
earth. The hem of his garment sweeps to the farthest edge
of being. He sits at the head of the feast ; and sends thr
cup of blessing down ; and it matters not whether Johrij
upon his bosom, or Jude, or James, or Peter, or you and 1,
with what we call the nineteen centuries between, recede
it. It is one Act — one Gift — forever 1 "

FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD. 189

They were silent, then, again, until they had almost
reached the church.

Mr. Armstrong turned to Faith once more, before they
entered.

"Read all the Gospel scenes with that thought. Go
back into them, and live them. And believe always, that
it' so your soul can go to Christ, across all time, His
Bpirit can no less come to you ! "

Are these too grave and solemn pages for a story?
Grave and solemn is our life, also ; and the deep thoughts
do come, and no narration can be true in fact or purpose,
which shall leave them out. I do not think the girl of
eighteen who feels the soul within her, will pass them by
unread, any more than if a high and earnest spirit, like
that I seek here to delineate, have ever met her in her
world, she oan have done other than hail it reverently and
gladly. Thank God, so His truth hath even already spread,
that no wide circle can be drawn in fact or fancy which
may not easily include some such ! There is no life so
frivolous that a holy day is not offered it once in seven.
Shall we write books that tell of years, and have no Sab
baths in them? If I would do this, it would be impossible
for me to tell the story of Faith's girlhood truly, and not
give therein, however faintly and incidentally, something
of the deeper influences that wrought upon her nature ; nor
could I speak of this life-friend of hers, and not show him
as he was, in his daily word and living.

Perhaps Faith was nearly the only person in church, to
day, who did not notice that there were strangers in the
pew behind the Gimps. When she came out, she was joined ;
and not by strangers. Margaret and Paul liushleigh came
eagerly to her side.

;90 FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD.

" We came out to Lakeside to stay a day or two with the
Morrises ; and ran away from them here, purposely to meet
you. And we mean to be very good, and go to church all
lay, if you will take us home with you meanwhile."

Faith, between her surprise, her pleasure, her embarrass-
cent, the rush of old remembrance, and a quick, apprehen-
iive thought of Mis' Battis and her probable arrangements,
made almost an awkward matter of her reply. But her
father and mother came up, welcomed the Rushleighs cor
dially, and the five were presently on their way toward Cross
Corners, and Faith had recovered sufficient self-possession
to say something beyond mere words of course.

Paul Rushlcigh looked very handsome ! And very glad,
too, to see shy Faith, who kept as invisible as might be
at Margaret's other side, and looked there, in her simple
spring dress contrasted with Margaret's rich and fashiona
ble, though also simple and lady-like attire, like a field daisy
beside a garden rose.

Margaret was charmed with everything. With being at
Kinnicutt, with the day, with the sermon, with Cross Cor
ners, and the house ; most of all, with Faith's own bright
chamber, where the blossoming elm-boughs were swaying in
at the open windows, and with the room below, whither she
was ushered when bonnet and mantle had been removed, and
where the door was thrown back that gave out upon the
grassy slope, fresh with its tender green, and let in th«?
breaths of budding shrubs ard sun-kissed soil.

Faith couldn't help being glad that the warm spring
noontide allowed and suggested this arraugcmcnt.

" It 's a little, old house ; " said she tu Miss Rushleigh,
who was enthusiastically praising each new aspect; "but
we can let in all out doors, you see, and that makes it large
enoujrh "

FAITH GARTNEY 'S GIRLHOOD. 191

" Who wants brick and mortar in the country?" asked
Margaret, with a disdain of all but what she saw before her.

Faith remembered, secretly, the winds and sleet of a few
months back, and their closed doors and snuggery of half a
house, and doubted whether her friend would quite have
weathered and endured all this, for the after-joy of May or
June. We stand, serene, at sunny points in life, and to
them who smile at seeing us glad say nothing of the interval
3f storms !

Dinner was of no moment. There was only roast chickeu,
Pressed the day before, and reheated and served with hot
1 egetables since their coming in, and a custard-pudding, and
tsome pastry-cakes that Faith's fingers had shaped, and
coffee ; but they drank in balm and swallowed sunshine,
aad the essence of all that was to be concrete by-and-by in
fiuitful fields and gardens. And they talked of old times!
Three years old, nearly ! And Faith and Margaret laughed,
and Mrs. Gartney listened: and dispensed dinner, or spoke
gently now and then, and Paul did his cleverest with Mr
Gartney, so that the latter gentleman declared afterward
that " young Eushleigh was a capital fellow; well posted;
his father's million did n't seem to. have spoiled him yet."

Altogether, this unexpected visit infused great life at
Cross Corners.

Why was it that Faith, when she thought it all over,
tried to weigh so very nicely just the amount of gladness
she had felt ; and was dimly conscious of a vague misgiving,
deep down, lest her father and mother might possibly be a
little more glad than she was quite ready to have them?
What made Ler especially rejoice that Saidie and the straw
berries had not come yet?

There arc certain shadows of feeling so faint, so indefinite.

192 FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD.

that when we look fully at them, they are no longer there.
Faith could surely analyze neither her pleasure nor her doubt

When Paul Rushleigh took her hand at parting, — Faith
stood, ungloved, on the great door-stone under the elms,
Paul and Margaret having accompanied her home from
afternoon church, before setting out on their walk to Lake
side, whither they must return, they said, for the Morrises'
late dinner, — he glanced down, as he did so, at the fair
little fingers, and then up, inquiringly, at Faith's face.
Her eyes fell, and the color rose, till it became an indig
nation at itself. She gi-ew hot, for days afterward, many a
time, as she remembered it. Who has not blushed at the
self-suspicion of blushing?

Who has not blushed at the simple recollection of having
blushed before ? On Monday, this happened. Faith went
over to the Old House, to inquire about Aunt Henderson's
foot, and to sit with her, if she should wish it, for an hour.
She chose the hour at which she thought Mr. Armstrong
usually walked to the village. Somehow, greatly as she
enjoyed all the minister's kindly words, and each moment
of his accidental presence, she had, of late, almost invariably
taken this time for coming over to see Aunt Faith. A secret
womanly instinct, only, it was ; waked into no consciousness,
and but ignorantly aware of its own prompting.

To-day, however, Mr. Armstrong had not gone out. Some
writing that he was tempted to do, contrary to his usual
Monday habit, had detained him within. And so, just as
Miss Henderson, having given the history of her slip, and
the untoward wrenching of her foot, and its present con
dition, to Faith's inquiries, asked her suddenly, "if they
had n't had some city visitors yesterday, and what sent
them flacketting over from Lakeside to church in the vil-

FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD. 193

lage?" the minister walked in. If he had n't heard, she
might not have done it; but, with the abrupt question,
came, as abruptly, the hot memory of yesterday ; and with
those other eyes, beside the double keenness of Aunt Faith's
over her spectacles, upon her, it was so much worse if she
should, that of course she could n't help doing it ! She col
ored up, and up, till the very roots of her soft hair tingled,
and a quick shame wrapped her as in a flaming garment.

The minister saw, and read. Not quite the obvious in
ference Faith might fear, — he had a somewhat profounder
knowledge of nature than that, — but what persuaded him
there was a thought, at least, between the two who met
yesteiday, more than of a mere chance greeting; it might
not lie so much with Faith as with the other ; yet it had
the power, — even the consciousness of its unspoken being,
to send the crimson to her face. What kept the crimson
there and deepened it, he knew quite well. He knew the
shame was at having blushed at all.

Nevertheless, Mr. Armstrong remembered that blush,
and pondered it, almost as long as Faith herself. In the
little time that he had felt himself her friend, he had grown
to recognize so fully, and to prize so dearly, her truth, her
purity, her high-mindedness, her reverence, that no new
influence could show itself in her life, without touching his
solicitous love. Was this young man worthy of a blush
from Faith ? Was there a height in his nature answering
to the reach of hers? Was the quick, impulsive pain that
came to him in the thought of how much that rose-hue
of forehead and cheek might mean, an intuition of his
stronger and more instructed soul of a danger to the child
that she might not dream ? Be it as it might, Roger Arm
strong pondered. He would also watch.

CHAPTER XXI.

PRESSURE.

" To b« warped, unconsciously, by the magnetic influence of all around
to the destiny, to a certain extent, of even the greatest souls."

OAKFI£U>.

SOMETIMES there springs up in a quiet life a period when
all its elements seem fermenting together; when, emphati
cally, in more than the common meaning of the common
phrase, " something seems brewing ; " when all sorts of un
expected conjunctures and combinations arise, and amid a
multitude of strange and unforeseen forces, one is impelled
forward to some new path.

It is for Life, — not so much, even, for Death, — that
we are to be " ready." Ready for God's call, that comes
to us in an hour when we think not, and demands all the
strength we should have grown to, to enable us to decide
and act. Ah ! the many foolish ones, who, with lamps un-
trimmed, are in no plight to meet the exigence of circum
stance, or the flash of opportunity, but are swayed hither
or thither into ways that were never planned for them in
God's projection of their lives, but wherein they stumble,
or are left, darkly, while His golden moment goes by !

June came, and Saidie Gartney. Not for flowers, or

strawberries, merely but for father's and mother's consent

194

FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD. 195

that, in a few weeks, when flowers and strawberries should
have fully come, there should be a marriage feast made for
her in the simple home, and she should go forth into the
gay world again, the bride of a wealthy New York banker.

Aunt Etherege and Saidie filled the house. With finery,
with bustle, with important presence.

Miss Gartney's engagement had been sudden ; her mar
riage was to be speedy. Half-a-dozen seamstresses, and as
many sewing-machines, were busy in New York, — hands,
feet, and wheels, — in making up the delicate draperies for

the trousseau; and Madame A was frantic with the

heap of elaborate dresses that was thrust upon her hands,
and must be ready for the thirtieth.

Mrs. Gartney and Faith had enough to do, to put the
house and themselves in festival trim. Hendie was spoiled
with having no lessons, and more toys and sugar-plums
than he knew what to do with. Mr. Selmore's comings
and goings made special ebullitions, weekly, where was
only a continuous lesser effervescence before. Mis' Battis
had not been able to subside into an arm-chair since the
last day of May.

Faith found great favor in the eyes of her brother-in-law
elect. He pronounced her a "naive, piquante little person,"
and already there was talk of how pleasant it would be, to
have her in Madison Square, and show her to the world.
Faith said nothing to this, but in her heart she clung to
Kinnicutt.

Glory thought Miss Gartney wonderful. Even Mr. Arm
strong spoke to Aunt Faith of the striking beauty of her
elder niece.

" I don't know how she does look," Aunt Faith replied
with all her ancient gruffness. " I see a great show of

196 FAITH GARTNERS GIRLHOOD.

flounces, and manners, and hair, but they don't look as if
they all grew, natural. I can't make her out, amongst all
that. Now Faith's just Faith. You see her prettinesa
the minute you look at her, as you do a flower's.

"There are not many like Miss Faith," replied Mr.
Armstrong. " I never knew but one other who wore so the
fresh, pure beauty of God's giving."

His voice was low and quiet, and his eye looked afar, as
he spoke.

Glory went away, and sat down on the door-stone. There
was a strange tumult at her heart. In the midst, a noble
joy. About it, a disquietude, as of one who feels shut out,
— alone.

" I don't know what ails me. I wonder if I aint glad !
Of course, it 's nothing to me. I aint in it. But it must
be beautiful to be so ! And to have such words said ! She
don't know what a sight the minister thinks of her ! I
know. I knew before. It's beautiful — but I aint in it.
Only, I think I 've got the feeling of it all. And I 'm glad
it 's real, somewhere. Some way, I seem to have so much
\ere, that never grows out into anything. Maybe I'd be
beautiful if it did ! "

So talked Glory, interjectionally, with herself.

In the midst of these excited days, there came two letters
to Mr. Gartney.

One was from a gentleman in Michigan, in relation to
&. me land Mr. Gartney owned there, taken years ago, at a
very low valuation, for a debt. This was likely, from the
rapid growth and improvement in the neighborhood, to be
come, within a few years, perhaps, a property of some im
portance.

" By-and-by," said he to his wife, to whom he had

FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD. 197

handed the letter across the table for perusal, " I must
try aud get out there, and look up that Ovvasso farm of
mine."

The other letter was from his son, James Gartney, in
San Francisco. The young man urged his father to con
sider whether it might not be a good idea for him to come
out and join him in California. ' ' You ai-e well out of
business, there," he wrote, " and when you begin to feel
like trying something again, why not come round ? There
is always plenty to be done here, and the climate would
just suit you. That, and the voyage, would set you up,
right off."

Mr. Gartney, by his year of comparative rest, and country
air and living, had gained strength that lie began to be
impatient, now, to use. An invalid's first vigor is like a
school-boy's coin, that "burns in his pocket." He is in. a
wonderful hurry to do something with it. Mrs. Gartney
saw that Cross Corners would not limit him long, and
began to feel her old anxiety creeping up, lest he should
rush, impulsively, into risk and excitement and worry
again.

James Gartney's proposal evidently roused his attention.
It was a great deal to think of, certainly ; but it was worth
thinking of, too. James had married in San Francisco,
had a pleasant home there, and was prospering. Many old
business friends had gone from Mishaumok, in the years
when the great flood of enterprise set westward across the
continent, and were building up name and influence in the
Golden Land. The idea found a place in his brain, and
clung there. Only, there was Faith ! But things might
come round so that even this thought need be no hindrance
to the scheme.

198 FAITH GARTNERS GIRLHOOD.

Changes, and plans, and interests, and influences were
gathering ; all to bear down upon one young life.

"More news!" said Mr. Gartney, one morning, coming
in from his walk to the village post-office, to the pleasant
sitting-room, or morning-room, as Mrs. Etheregeand Saidie
called it, where Faith was helping her sister write a list
of the hundreds who were to receive Mr. and Mrs. Sel-
more's cards, — "At Home, in September, in Madison
Square." " Whom do you think I met in the village, this
morning?"

Everybody looked up, and everybody's imagination took
a discursive leap among possibilities, and then everybody,
of course, asked " Whom ? "

" Old Jacob Rushleigh, himself. He has taken a house
at Lakeside, for the summer. And he has bought the new
mills just over the river. That is to give young Paul
something to do, I imagine. Kinnicutt has begun to
grow ; and when places or people once take a start, there 's
no knowing what they may come to. Here's something
for you, Faithie, that I dare say tells all about it."

And he tossed over her shoulder, upon the table, a letter,
bearing her name, in Margaret Rushleigh's chirograph, upon
vhe cover.

Faith's head was bent over the list she was writing ; bat
t le vexatious color, feeling itself shielded in her face, crept
round till it made her ear-tips rosy. Saidie put out her
forefinger, with a hardly perceptible motion, at the tell
tale sign, and nodded at Aunt Etherege behind her sister's
back.

Aunt Etherege looked bland and sagacious.

Up stairs, a little after, these sentences were spoken U
Baidie's room.

FAITH GARTNERS GIRLHOOD. 199

"Of course it will be," said the younger to the elder
lady. "It's been going on ever siuce they were children.
Faith has n't a right to say no, now. And what else
brought him up here after houses and mills ? "

" I don't see that the houses and mills were necessary
to the object. Rather cumbersome and costly machinery,
I should think, to bring to bear upon such a simple pur
pose."

"Oh, the business plan is something that has come up
accidentally, no doubt. Running after one thing, people
very often stumble upon another. But it will all play in
together, you'll see. Only, I'm afraid I shan't have the
glory of introducing Faithie in New York ! "

" It would be as good a thing as possible. And I can
perceive that your father and mother count upon it, also.
In their situation what a great relief it would be ! Of
course, Henderson never could do so mad a thing as take
the child up by the roots, again, and transplant her to San
Francisco ! And I see plainly he has got that in his own
head."

A door across the passage at this moment shut, softly,
but securely.

Behind it, in her low chair by her sewing-table, sat the
young sister whose fate had been so lightly decreed.

Was it all just so, as Saidie had said? Had she no
longer a right to say no? Only themselves know how
easily, how almost inevitably, young judgments and con
sciences are drawn on in the track beaten down for them
by others. Many and many a life-decision has been made,
through this taken for granted that bears with its mute,
but magnetic power, upon the shyness and irresolution that
can scarcely face and interpret its own wish or will.

200 FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD.

It was very true, that, as Saidie Gartney had said, " this
had been going on for years." For years, Faith had found
great pleasantness in the companionship and evident prefer
ence of Paul Rushleigh. There had been nobody to com
pare with him in her young set in Mishaurnok. She knew
he liked her. She had been proud of it. The girlish
fancy, that may be forgotten in after years, or may, fos
tered by circumstances, endure and blow into a calm and
happy wifehood, had been given to him. And what troubled
her now? Was it that always, when tho decisive moment
approaches, there is a little revulsion of timid feminine
feeling, even amid the truest joy ? Or was it that a new
wine had been given into Faith's life, which would not be
held in the old bottles ? Was she uncertain — inconstant ;
or had she spiritually outgrown her old attachment ? Or,
was she bewildered, now, out of the discernment of what
was still her heart's desire and need ?

Paul was kind, and true, and manly. She recognized
all this in him as surely as ever. If he had turned from,
and forgotten her, she would have felt a pang. What was
this, then, that she felt, as he came near, and nearer?

And then, her father! Had he really begun to count
on this? Do men know how their young daughters feel
when the first suggestion comes that they are not regarded
us born for perpetual daughterhood in the father's house ;
Would she even encumber his plans, if she clung still to
her maidenly life ?

By all these subtleties does the destiny of woman close
in upon her.

Margaret Rushleigh's letter was full of delight, and
eagerness, and anticipation. She and Paul had been so
«harmed with Kinnicutt and Lakeside ; and there had hap-

FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD. 201

pouod to be a furnished house to let for the season close
by the Morrises, and they had persuaded papa to take it.
They were tired of the sea-shore, and Conway was getting
crowded to death. They wanted a real summer in the
country. And then this had turned up about the mills !
Perhaps, now, her father would build, and they should
come up every year. Perhaps Paul would stay altogether,
and superintend. Perhaps — anything! It was all a de
lightful chaos of possibilities ; with this thing certain, that
she and Faith would be together for the next four months
in the glorious summer shine and bloom.

Miss Gartney's wedding was simple. The stateliness
and show were all reserved for Madison Square.

Mr. Armstrong pronounced the solemn words, in the
shaded summer parlor, with the door open into the sweeter
and stiller shade without.

Faith stood by her sister's side, in fair, white robes, and
Mr. Robert Selmore was groomsman to his brother. A few
^special friends from Mishaumok and Lakeside were present
to witness the ceremony.

And then there was a kissing, — a hand-shaking, — a
well-wishing, — a going out to the simple but elegantly
arranged collation, — a disappearance of the bride to put
on travelling array, — a carriage at the door, — smiles,
tears, and good-byes, — Mr., Mrs., and Mr. Robert Sel
more were off to meet the Western train, — and all was
over.

Mrs. Etherege remained a few days longer at Cross Cor
ners. As Mis' Battis judiciously remarked, " after a wed-
din' or a funeral, there ought to be somebody to stay awhile
and cheer up the mourners."

This visit, that had been so full of happenings, was to

202 FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD.

have a strange occurrence still to mark it, before all fell
again into the usual order.

Aunt Etlrerege was to go on Thursday. On Wednesday,
the three ladies sat together in the cool, open parlor, where
Mr. Armstrong, walking over from the Old House, had
joined them. He had the July number of the " Mishau-
mok" in his hand, and a finger between the fresh-cut leaves
at a poem he would read them.

Just as he finished the last stanza, amid a hush of the
room that paid tribute to the beauty of the lines and his
perfect rendering of them, wheels came round from the
high road into the lane.

" It is Mr. Gartney come back from Sedgely," said Aunt
Etheredge, looking from her window, between the blinds.
"Whom on earth has he picked up to bring with him?"

A thin, angular figure of a woman, destitute of crino
line, wearing big boots, and a bonnet that ignored the
fashion, and carrying in her hand a black enamelled leather
bag, was alighting as she spoke, at the gate.

"Mother!" said Faith, leaning forward, and glancing
out, also, "it looks like — it is — Nurse Sampson!"

And she put her work hastily from her lap, and rose to
go out at the side door, to meet and welcome her.

To do this, she had to pass by Mr. Armstrong. How
tame that rigid look, that deadly paleness, to his face?
What spasms of pain made him clutch the pamphlet he held
with fingers that grew white about the nails ?

Faith stopped, startled.

"Mr. Armstrong! Ai-e you not well? said she. At
the same instant of her pausing, Miss Sampson entered
from the hall, behind her. Mr. Armstrong's eye, lifted
toward Faith in an attempt to reply, caught a glimpse of

FAITH GAETNET'S GIRLHOOD. 203

the sharp, pronounced outlines of the nurse's face. Before
Faith could comprehend, or turn, or cry out, the paleness
blanched ghastlier over his features, and the strong man
fell back, fainting.

With quick, professional instinct, Miss Sampson sprang
forward, seizing, as she did so, an ice-water pitcher from
the table.

«' There, take this ! " said she to Faith, " and sprinkle him
with it, while I loosen his neck-cloth ! — Gracious goodness ! "
she exclaimed, in an altered tone, as she came nearer to him
for this purpose, '• do it, some of the rest of you, and let me
get out of his way ! It was me ! "

And she vanished out of the room.

CHAPTER
ROGER ARMSTRONG'S STORY.

"Even by means of our Borrows, we belong to the Eteiial Tlan."

HUMBOLDT

" Go in there," said Nurse Sampson to Mr. Gartney,
calling him in from the porch, " and lay that man flat on
the floor ! "

Which Mr. Gartney did, wondering, vaguely, in the
instant required for his transit to the apartment, whether
bandit or lunatic might await his offices.

All happened in a moment; and in that moment, the
minister's fugitive senses began to return.

"Lie quiet, a minute. Faith, get a glass of wine, or a
little brandy."

Faith quickly brought both ; and Mr. Armstrong, whom
her father now assisted to the arm-chair again, took the
wine from her hand, with a smile that thanked her, and
deprecated himself.

"I am not ill," he said. "It is all over now. It was
the sudden shock. I did not think I could have been so
weak."

Mrs. Gartney had gone to find some hartshorn. Mrs.
Etherege, seeing that the need for it was passing, went out
to tell her sister so, and to ask the strange woman who had

204

FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD. 205

originated all the commotion, what it could possibly mean.
Mr. Gartney, at the same instant, caught a glimpse of hia
horse, which he had left unfastened at the gate, giving
indications of restlessness, and hastened out to tie him, and
to call Luther, whom he had been awaiting when Misa
Sampson hailed him at the door.

Faith and Mr. Armstrong were left alone.

" Did I frighten you, my child ? " he asked, gently. " It
was a strange thing to happen ! I thought that woman
was in her grave. I thought she died, when — . I will
tell you all about it some day, soon, Miss Faith. It was
the sad, terrible page of my life."

Faith's eyes were lustrous with sympathy. Under all
other thought was a beating joy, — not looked at yet, —
that he could speak to her so ! That he could snatch this
chance moment to tell her, only, of his sacred sorrow !

She moved a half-step nearer, and laid her hand, softly,
on the chair-arm beside him. She did not touch so much
as a fold of his sleeve ; but it seemed, somehow, like a
pitying caress.

" I am sorry !" said she. And then the others came in.

Mr. Gartney walked round with his friend to the old
house.

Miss Sampson began to recount what she knew of the
story. Faith escaped to her own room at the first sen
tence. She would rather have it as Mr. Armstrong's con
fidence.

Next morning, Faith was dusting, and arranging flowers
in the east parlor, and had just set the " hill-side door," as
they called it, open, when Mr. Armstrong passed the win
dow and appeared thereat.

" I came to ask, Miss Faith, if you would walk up over

206 FAITH GARTNERS GIRLHOOD.

the Ridge. It is a lovely morning, and I am selfish
enough to wish to have you to myself for a little of it.
By-and-by, I would like to come back, and see Miss Samp-
Bon ."

Faith understood. He meant to tell her this that had
been heavy upon his heart through all these years. She
would go. Directly, when she had brought her hat, and
spoken with her mother.

Mrs. Etherege and Mrs. Gartney were sitting together
in the guest-chamber, above. At noon, after an early din
ner, Mrs. Etherege was to leave.

Mr. Armstrong stood upon the door-stone below, looking
outward, waiting. If he had been inside the room, he
would not have heard. The ladies, sitting by the window,
just over his head, were quite unaware and thoughtless of
his possible position.

He caught Faith's clear, sweet accent first, as she an
nounced her purpose to her mother, adding, —

" I shall be back, auntie, long before dinner."

Then she crossed the hall into her own room, made hei
slight preparation for the walk, and went down by the
kitchen staircase, to give Parthenia some last word about
the early dinner.

" I think," said Mrs. Etherege, in the keenness of her
worldly wisdom, "that this minister of yours might as well
have a hint of how matters stand. It seems to me he is
growing to monopolize Faith, rather.

"Oh," replied Mrs. Gartney, " there is nothing of that!
You know what nurse told us, last evening. It is n't quite
likely that a man would faint away at the memory of one
woman, if his thoughts were turned, the least, in that way,
Upon another. No, indeed! She is his Sunday scholar.

FAITH GAHTNETS GIRLHOOD. 207

ani he treats her always as a very dear young friend. But
that is all."

"Maybe. But is it quite safe fov her? He is a young
man yet, notwithstanding those few gray hairs."

«« Oh, Faith has tacitly belonged to Paul Rushleigh these
three years ! "

Mr. Armstrong heard it all. He turned the next moment,
and met his " dear young friend " with the same gentle smile
and manner that he always wore toward her, and they walked
up the Ridge-path, among the trees together.

No landscape gardener could have planned so beautiful
an illusion as Nature had made here behind the house at
Cross Corners.

This natural ridge, — that sloped up from the lane in a
bank along one side, and on the other sunk down into a
hollow, beyond which were the cornfields and potato-
patches, — crowned and clad with wild shrubbery and trees,
ended like a sloping promontory that melted down into the
level, scarcely a rod beyond the " hill-side door."

Over the cool, grassy path, — up among the lilacs and
evergreens, and barberries, — until they were shut in upon
the crest, by the verdure and the blue, — they kept on, in
a silence wherein their spirits felt each other, and could
wait for words.

A boulder of rock, scooped into smooth hollows that
made pleasant seats, was the goal, usually, of the Ridge-
walk. Here Faith paused, and Mr. Armstrong made her
sit down and rest.

Standing there before her, he began his story.

"One summer, — years ago," — he said, "I went to the
?ity of New Orleans. I went to bring thence, with me, a
»ear friend — her who was to have been my wife."

208 FAITH GARTNERS GIRLHOOD.

The deep voice trembled, and paused. Faith could not
look up, her breath came quickly, and the tears were all
but ready.

" She had been there, through the winter and spring,
with her father, who, save myself, was the only near friend
she had in all the world.

" The business which took him there detained him until
later in the season than Northerners are accustomed to feel
safe in staying. And still, important affairs hindered his
departure.

"He wrote to me, that, for himself, he must risk a resi
dence there for some weeks yet; but that his daughter
must be placed in safety. There was every indication of a
sickly summer. She knew nothing of his writing, and he
feared would hardly consent to leave him. But, if I came,
she would yield to me. Our marriage might take place
there, and I could bring her home. Without her, he said,
he could more quickly despatch what remained for him to
do ; and I must persuade her of this, and that it was for
the safety of all that she should so fulfil the promise which
was to have been at this time redeemed, had their earlier
return been possible.

" In the New Orleans papers that came by the same
mail, were paragraphs of deadly significance. The veiy
cautiousness with which they were worded weighted them
the more.

"Miss Faith! my friend!" — and, as Roger Armstrong
spoke, the strong right hand clutched, with a nervous
grasp of pain, the bole of a young tree by which he stood,
— "in that city of pestilence, was my life! Night and
day I journeyed, till I reached the place. I found the ad
dress which had been sent me, — there were only strangers

FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD. 209

there ! Mr. Waldo had been, but the very day before,
seized with the fatal endemic, and removed to a fever-
hospital. Miriam had refused to leave him, and had gone
with him, — into plague and death !

"Was I wrong, child? Could I have helped it? ^1 fol
lowed. Ah ! God lets strange woes, most fearful horrors,
into this world of His ! I cannot tell you, if I would, what
I saw there ! Pestilence — death — corruption !

"In the midst of all, among the gentle sisters of chanty,
I found a New England woman, — a nurse, — her whom 1
met yesterday. She came to me on my inquiry for Mr.
Waldo. He was dead. Miriam had already sickened, —
was past hope. I could not see her. It was against the
rule. She would not know me.

" I only remember that I refused to be sent away. I
think my brain reeled with the weariness of sleepless nights
and the horror of the shock.

" I cannot dwell upon the story. It was ended quickly,
When I struggled back, painfully, to life, from the disease
that struck me, too, down, there were strange faces round
me, and none could even tell me of her last hours. The
nurse, — Miss Sampson, — had been smitten — was dying.

" They sent me to a hospital for convalescents. Weeks
after, I came out. feeble and hopeless, into my lonely life !

" Since then, God, who had taken from me the object I
had set for myself, has filled its room with His own work.
And, doing it, He has not denied me to find many a chas
tened joy.

" Dear, young friend ! " said he, with a tender, lingering
emphasis, — it was all he could say then, — all they had
left him to say, if he would, — "I have told you this,
oecause you have come nearer into my sympathies than any

210 FAITH GARTNERS GIRLHOOD.

in all those years that have been ray years of strangerhood
and sorrow ! You have made me think, in your fresh, maid
enly life, and your soul-earnestness, of Miriam !

" When your way broadens out into busy sunshine, and
mine lies otherwhere, do not forget rne ! "

A solemn baptism of mingled grief and joy seemed to
touch the soul of Faith. One hand covered her face, that
was bowed down, weeping. The other lay in her compan
ion's, who had taken it as he uttered these last words. So
it rested a moment, and then its fellow came to it, and, be
tween the two, held Roger Armstrong's reverently, while the
fair, tearful face lifted itself to his.

" I do thank you so ! " And that was all.

Faith was his '•' dear young friend ! " How the words in
which her mother limited his thoughts of her to common
place, widened, when she spoke them to herself, into a great
beatitude ! She never thought of more, — scarcely whether
more could be. This great, noble, purified, God-loving
soul that stood between her and heaven, like the mountain-
peak, bathing its head in clouds, and drawing lightnings
down, leaned over her, and blessed her thus !

He had even likened her to Miriam. He had made her
nearest, next to her. However their differing paths might
lie, he had begged her to remember him. What could
happen to her that should take away this joy ? She was
strong for all life, all duty, henceforth.

She never suspected her own heart, even when the re
membrance of Paul came up and took a tenderness from the
thought how he, too, might love, and learn from, this her
friend. She turned back with a new gentleness to all other
love, as one does from a prayer !

CHAPTER

QUESTION AND ANSWER.

"Unless you can swear, ' For life, for death '
Oh, fear to call it loving I "

MRS. Bncwrmio.

FAITH sent Nurse Sampson in to talk with Mr. Arm
strong. Then he learned all that he had longed to know,
but had never known before ; that which took him to his
lost bride's death-bed, and awoke out of the silent years
for him a moment refused to him in its passing.

Miss Sampson came from her hour's interview, with an
unbending of the hard lines of her face, and a softness,
even, in her eyes, that told of tears.

" If ever there was an angel that went walking about in
black broadcloth, that man is the one,'' said she.

And that was all she would say.

"I'm staying," she exclaimed, in answer to their enqui
ries, " with a half-sister of mine at Sedgely. Mrs. Crabe,
the blacksmith's wife. You see, I'd got run down, and had
to take a rest. Resting is as much a part of work as doing,
when it's necessary. I had a chance to go to Europe with
an invaleed lady ; but I allers hate such half-way contriv
ances. I either want to work with all my might, or be lazy
with all my might. And so I've come here to do nothing,

as hard as ever I can."

211

FAITH GAB TREY'S GIRLHOOD.

"I know well enough," she said again, afterward, " that
something's being cut out for me, tougher 'n anything I've
had yet. I never had an hour's extra rest in my life, but
I found out, precious soon, what it had been sent for. I'm
going to stay on all summer, as the doctor told me to ; but
I'm getting strong, already; and I shall be just like a
tiger before the year's out. And then it'll come, whatever
it is. You '11 see."

Miss Sampson staid until the next day after, and then
Mr. Gartney drove her back to Sedgely.

In those days it came to pass that Glory found she had a
" follower."

Luther Goodell, who " did round " at Cross Corners, got
so into the way of straying up the field-path in his noon
ing hours, and after chores were done at night, that Miss
Henderson at last, in her plain, outright fashion, took the
subject up, and questioned Glory.

"If it means anything, and you mean it shall mean any
thing, well and good. I shall put up with it; though what
anybody wants with men-folks cluttering round, is more
than I can understand. But, if you don't want him, he
shan't come. So tell me the truth, child. Yes, or no. Have
you any notion of him for a husband ? "

Glory blushed her brightest at these words; but there
was no falling of the eye, or faltering of the voice, as she
spoke with answering straightforwardness and simplicity.

" No ma'am. I don 't think I shall ever have a husband."

"No ma'am's enough. The rest you don't know any
thing about. Most likely you will."

" I should n't want anybody, ma'am, that would be likely
to want me."

And Glory walked out into the milk-room with the pant
«hc had been scalding:.

FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD. 213

It was true. This woman-child would go all through life
as she had begun ; discerning always, and reaching spiriiu-
ally after, that which was beyond ; which in that " kingdom
of heaven " was hers afready ; but which to earthly having
and holding should never corne.

God puts such souls oftener than we think, into such life.
These are His vestals.

Miss Henderson's foot had not grown perfectly strong.
She, herself, said, coolly, that she never expected it to. More
than that, she supposed, now she had begun, she should
keep on going to pieces.

"An old life," she said, "is just like old cloth when ifc
begins to tear. It'll soon go into the rag-bag, and then to
the mill that grinds all up, and brings us out new and white
again ! "

" Glory McWhirk," said she, on another day after, " if
you could do just the thing you would like best to do, what
would it be ? "

" To-day, ma'am ? or any time ? " asked Glory, puzzled as
to how much her mistress's question included.

"Ever. If you had a home to live in, say, and money to
spend ? "

Glory had to wait a moment before she could so grasp
such an extraordinary hypothesis as to reply.

"Well?" said Miss Henderson, with slight impa
tience.

"If I had, — I should like best to find some little chil
dren without any fathers or mothers, as I was, and dress
them up, as you did me, and curl their hair, and make a
real good time for them, every day ! "

"You would! Well, that's all. I was curious to know
what you 'd say. I guess those beans in the oven want
more hot water."

2U FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD.

The Rushleighs had come to Lakeside. Every day, nearly,
saw Paul, or Margaret, or both, at Cross Corners.

Faith led them through her beautiful wood-walks ; they
strolled away for whole mornings, and made little picnics;
not deigning to come back to damask table-cloths and reg
ular dinners ; Paul read them beautiful poems, and whole
chapters out of new and charming books, and sang wild
ballads, and climbed impossible places to get Faith all the
farthest off and fairest wild flowers.

Faith was often, also, at Lakeside.

Old Mr. Rushleigh treated her with a benignant fatherli-
ness and looked upon her with an evident fondness and
pride that threw heavy weight in the scale of his son's
chances. And Madam Rushleigh, as she began to be
called, since Mrs. Philip had entered the family, petted
her in the old, graceful, gracious fashion ; and Margaret
loved her, simply, and from her heart.

There was nothing she could break away from, if she
bad wished ; there was everything that bound and multi
plied the fine, invisible network about her fancy and her
will.

With Paul himself it had not been as in the days of
bouquets, and " Germans," and bridal association in Mish-
aumok. They were all living and enjoying together a
beautiful idyl. Nothing seemed special, — nothing was
embarrassing.

Faith thought, in these days, that she was very happy.

Mi. Armstrong relinquished her, almost imperceptibly,
to htt younger friends. In the pleasant twilights, though,
when lit_r day's pleasures and occupations were ended, he
would Oxi^n come over, as of old, and sit with them in the
summer parlor or under the elms.

FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD. 215

Or Faith would go up the beautiful Ridge-walk with
him ; and he would have a thought for her that was higher
than any she could reach, by herself, or with the help of
any other human soul.

And so, — her best nature fed, — no want left craving
and unfilled, — she hardly knew what it was that made
her so utterly content ; but the brightness of her life, like
that of day, seemed to come from all around, overflowing
upon her from the whole illumined world.

And the minister? How did his world look to him?
Perhaps, as if clouds that had parted, sending a sunbeam
across from the west upon the dark sorrow of the morning,
had shut again, inexorably, leaving him still to tread the
nightward path under the old, leaden sky.

A day came, that set him thinking of all this — of th&
years that were past, of those that might be to come.

Mr. Armstrong was not quite so old as he had been rep
resented. A man cannot go through plague and anguish,
as he had done, and " keep," as Nurse Sampson had said,
long ago, of women, "the baby face on." There were
lines about brow and mouth, and gleams in the hair, that
seldom come so early.

This day he completed one-and-thirty years.

The same day, last month, had been Faith's birthday.
She was nineteen.

Roger Armstrong thought of the two together.

He thought of these twelve years that lay between them.
Of the love, — the loss^ — the stern and bitter struggle, —
the divine amends and holj hope that they had brought to
him ; and then of the innocent girl-life she had been living
in them ; then, how the two paths had met so, in these last
few, beautiful months.

216 FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD.

Whither, and how far apart, trended they now?

He could not see. He waited, — leaving the end with
God.

A few weeks went by, in this careless, holiday fashion
with Faith and her friends ; and then came the hour when
she must face the truth for herself and for another, auc1
speak the word of destiny for both.

She had made a promise for a drive around the Pond
Koad. Margaret and her brother were to come for her, and
to return to Cross Corners for tea.

At the hour fixed, she sat, waiting, under the elms, hat
and mantle on, and whiling the moments of delay with a
new book Mr. Armstrong had lent her.

Presently, the Rushleighs' light, open, single-seated wagon
drove up.

Paul had come alone.

Margaret had a headache, but thought that after sun
down she might feel better, and begged that Faith would
reverse the plan agreed upon, and let Paul bring her home
to tea with them.

Paul took for granted that Faith would keep to her en
gagement with himself. It was difficult to refuse. She
was ready, waiting. It would be absurd to draw back,
sensitively, now, she thought. Besides, it would be very
pleasant ; and why should she be afraid ? Yet she wished,
very regretfully, that Margaret were there.

She shrank from Ute-ct-Utes, — from anything that might
help to precipitate a moment sh,e felt herself not quite ready
for.

She supposed she did care for Paul Rushleigh as most
girls cared for lovers; that she had given him reason to
expect she should; she felt, instinctively, whither all this

FAITH GARTNET'S GIRLHOOD. 217

pleased acquiescence of father and mother, and this warm
welcome and encouragement at Lakeside, tended ; and she
had a dim prescience of what must, some time, come of it :
but that was all in the far-off by-and-by. She would not
look at it yet. She was quite happy and content in this
bright summer-life of the present. Why should people
want to hurry her on to more ?

There is much that is apparently inconsistent in the vary
ing moods of young girls, to whom their own wishes are, as
yet, a mystery.

If Faith felt, ordinarily, a blithe content, there were mo
ments, nevertheless, when she was afraid

She was afraid, now, as she let Paul help her into the
wagon, and take his place at her side.

She had been frightened by a word of her mother's, when
she had gone to her, before leaving, to tell how the plan
had been altered, and ask if she had better do as was wished
of her.

Mrs. Gartney had assented with a smile, and a " Cer
tainly, if you like it, Faith ; indeed, I don't see how you
can very well help it; only — "

" Only what, mother? " asked Faith, a little fearfully.

"Nothing, dear," answered her mother, turning to her
with a little caress. But she had a look in her eyes that
mothers wear when they begin to see their last woman's
sacrifice demand itself at their hands.

" Go, darling. Paul is waiting."

It was like giving her away.

So they drove down, through by-ways, among the lanes,
toward the Wachaug road.

Summer was in her perfect flush and fulness of spen-
dor The smell of new-mown hay was in the air.

218 FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD.

As they came upon the river, they saw the workmen busy
in and about the new mills. Mr. Rushleigh's buggy stood
by the fence ; and he was there, among his mechanics, with
his straw hat and seer-sucker coat on, inspecting and giving
orders.

"What a capital old fellow the governor is ! " said Paul,
in the fashion young men use, now-a-days, to utter their
affections.

"Do you know he means to set me up in these mills he
is making such a hobby of, and give me half the profits?11

Faith had not known. She thought him very good.

"Yes; he would do anything, I believe, for me, — or
anybody I cared for."

Faith was silent; and the strange fear came up in heart
and throat.

" I like Kinnicutt, thoroughly."

" Yes," said Faith. " It is very beautiful here."

" Not only that. I like the people. I like their simple
fashions. One gets at human life and human nature here.
) don't think I was ever, at heart, a city boy. I don't like
living at arm's-length from everybody. People come close
together, in the country. And — Faith! what a minister
you Ve got here ! What a sermon that was he preached
last Sunday ! I 've never been what you might call one of
the serious sort ; but such a sermon as that must do anybody
good."

Faith felt a warmth toward Paul as he said this, which
was more a drawing of the heart than he had gained from
her by all the rest.

" My father says he will keep him here, if money can do
it. He never goes to church at Lakeside, now. It needs
just such a man among mill-villages like these, he says

FAITH GAETNEY'S GIRLHOOD. 219

My lather thinks a great deal of his work-people. He says
nobody ought to bring families together, and build up a
neighborhood, as a manufacturer does, and not look out foi
more than the money. J think he '11 expect a great deal of
me, if he leaves me here, at the head of it all. More than
I can ever do, by myself."

" Mr. Armstrong will be the very best help to you," said
Faith. "I think lie means to stay. I'm sure Kinnicutt
would seem nothing without him now."

They were in the Pond Road. At this moment, they
were passing a bend, where a great elm leaned over from
the wood-side, and on the bank, opposite, lay a mossy log.
Here some child had sat down to rest, and left a handful
of wild flowers, that were fading there.

Faith carried, through all her life, a daguerreotype of
tin's little scene, to its minutest detail, flashed upon her
soul by these next words that were spoken, as they passed
slowly by.

" Faith !- Will you help me to make a home here ? "

She could not speak. A great shock had fallen upon
her whole nature, as if a thunder-bolt she had had presenti
ment of, burst, warniugless, from a clear blue sky.

They drove on for minutes, without another word.

"Faith ! You don't answer me. Must I take silence as
1 please ? It can't be that you don't care for me ! "

"No, no!" cried Faith, desperately, like one struggling
for voice through a nightmare. " I do care. But — Paul!
1 don't know ! I can't tell. Let me wait, please. Let me
think."

"As long as you like, darling," said he, gently and ten
derly. "You know all I can tell you. You know I have
cared for you all my life. And I'll wait now till you tell

220 FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD.

me I may speak again. Till you put on that little ring of
mine, Faith ! "

There was a little loving reproach in these last words.

" Please take me home, now, Paul ! "

They were close upon the return path around the Lake.
A look of disappointed pain passed over Paul Rushleigh's
features. This was hardly the happy reception, however
shy, he had hoped and looked for. Still he hoped, however.
He could not think she did not care for him. She, who had
been the spring of his own thoughts and purposes for years.
But, obedient to her wish, he touched his horse with the
lash, and urged him homeward.

How many minutes, how many miles, they might have
counted, as they sat side by side, in that intense conscious
ness that was speechless, neither thought.

Paul helped her from the wagon at the little white gate
at Cross Corners, and then they both remembered that she
was to have gone to Lakeside to tea.

" What shall I tell Margaret? " he asked.

"Oh, don't tell her anything! I mean — tell her, I
couldn't come to-night. And, Paul — forgive me! I do
Want so to do what is right ! "

" Is n't it right to let me try and make you happy all
vour life ? "

A light had broken upon her, — confusedly, it is true, —
yet that began to show her to herself more plainly than any
glimpse she had had before, as Paul's words, simple, yet
burning with his strong sure love, came to her, with their
claim to honest answer.

She saw what it was he brought her; she felt it was less
she had to give him back. There was something in the
world she might go missing all the way through life, if she

FAITH O ART NET'S GIRLHOOD. 221

took this lot that lay before her now. Would he not miss a
something in her, also? Yet, must she needs insist on the
greatest, the rarest, that God ever sends? Why should she,
more than others ? Would she wrong him more, to gh e him
what she could, or to refuse him all ?

"I ought — if I do — " she said, tremulously, "to care
as you do ! "

" You never can, Faith ! " cried the young man, impetu
ously. " I care as a man cares ! Let me love you ! care a
little for me, and let it grow to more ! "

Men, till something is accorded, are willing to take so
little ! And then, straightway, the little must become so
entire !

"Well, I declare !" exclaimed Mis' Battis, as Faith came
in. " Who 'd a thought o' seeing you home to tea ! I spose
you aint had none ? "

The fire was down, — the kitchen stove immaculate in
blackness from fresh polish, and the relict sat in her wooden
rocking-chair opposite the door that stood open into the
sitting-room, with her knitting in her hands, working at it,
dreamily, in the twilight.

"Yes — no. That is, I don't want any. Where is my
mother?"

" She and your pa 's gone down to Dr. Wasgatt's. I knew
'twould be contrary to the thirty-nine articles that they
should get away from there without their suppers, and so J
•et the fire right down, and blacked the stove."

"Never mind," said Faith, abstractedly. "I don't feeJ
hungry." And she went away, up stairs.

" 'M!" said Mis' Battis, significantly, to herself, running
a released knitting-needle through her hair, " Don't tell me !
I 've ben through the mill J "

222 FAITH GARTNEYyS GIRLHOOD.

Half-an-hour after, she came up to Faith's door.

" The minister's down stairs," said she, "Hope to good
ness he 's had his supper ! "

"Oh, if I dared!" thought Faith; and her heart throb
bed tumultuously. " Why can't there be somebody to tell
me what I ought to do ? "

If she had dared, how she could have leaned upon this
friend ! How she could have trusted her conscience and her
fate to his decision !

And still the light that lighted her to herself was but a
glimmer !

There was a moment when a word was almost on her lips,
that might have changed, who knows ? so much that was to
come after !

"Does anything trouble you to-night, Miss Faith?"
asked Mr. Armstrong, watching her sad, abstracted look in
one of the silent pauses that broke their attempts at conver
sation. " Are you ill, or tired? "

" Oh, no ! " answered Faith, quickly, from the surface, as
one often does when thoughts lie deep. " I am quite well.
Only — I am sometimes puzzled."

" About what is ? Or about what ought to be ? "

"About doing. So much depends. I get so tired —
feeling how responsible everything makes me. I wish I
were a little child again ! Or that somebody would just take
me and tell me where to go, and where to stay, and what tc
do, and what not. From minute to minute, as the things
come up."

Roger Armstrong, with his great, chastened soul, yearned
over the child as she spoke ; so gladly he would have taken
her, at that moment, to his heart, and bid her lean on him
for all that man might give of help, — of love, of leading

FAITH GAKTNEY'S GIRLIIOOD. 223

if she had told him, in that moment, all her doubt, aa
tor the instant of his pause she caught her breath with
swelling impulse to do !

" ' A nd they shall all be led of God ; ' " said the minister.
" It is only to be willing to take His way rather than one s
own. All this that seems to depend painfully upon one's
self, depends, then, upon Him. The act is human — the
consequences become Divine."

Faith was silenced then. There was no appeal to human
help from that. Her impulse throbbed itself away into a
lonely passiveness again.

There was a distance between these two that neither dared
to pass.

A word was spoken between mother and daughter as they
parted for the night.

" Mother ! I have such a thing to think of, — to decide ! "

It was whispered low, and with cheek hidden on her
mother's neck, as the good-night kiss was taken.

" Decide for your own happiness, Faithie. We have seen
and understood for a long time. If it is to be as we think,
nothing could give us a greater joy for you."

Ah ! how much had father and mother seen and under
stood ?

The daughter went her way, to wage her own battle in
secret; to balance and fix her decision between her own
Heart and God. So we find ourselves left, at the last, in all
vbe great crises of our life.

Late that night, while Mr. and Mrs. Gartney were felici-
Jating each other, cheerily, upon the great good that had
fallen to the lot of their cherished child, that child sat by
her open window, looking out into the summer night the
tossing elm-boughs whispering weird syllables in her ears.

224 FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD.

and the stars looking clown upon her soul-struggle, so silent
ly, from so far !

" He bad cared for her all his life." And who had been
to her, in the happy years of the unthinking past, what he
had been ? Had she a right to do other than to go on in this,
seemingly, her appointed path of life ? Was not this the
" high and holy work of love " that next awaited her ? For
father and mother she had done, in her girlish sacrifice and
effort, what she could. Now, did not a greater work rise
before her for others ? and no less, at the same time, per
haps, for them ?

To take anxiety from them, — to gratify what she per
ceived to have been a cherished wish and hope of theirs for
her, — to leave them without care, save for the little brother
for whom they would wish to do so much, and for whom
they could do so much better when their cares for her were
ended?"

And then, to help Paul, as he had asked her, to make a
home here. To build up about them all things beautiful
p,nd true. Influence, — and all good that comes of influence
and opportunity. To keep near them the lofty council they
both would love, — to be guided by it, — to carry it out,
— to live so in a pure and blessed friendship, that should
exalt them both. What might not God will that she should
be to Paul, — that each should be to the other?

Or, to cast down utterly all these hopes of father, mother,
and lover, — to dash aside the opportunity set in her way.
recklessly, — impiously, it might be ! To carry, all her lite,
a burden upon her heart and soul, the anguish she had laid on
one who loved her !

And all, because, caring for him as she surely did, she
had a doubt as to whether she might quite care as he did,
- as it was possible for her to care !

FAITH GABTNEY'S GIRLHOOD. 225

He had said she could not feel as he. That he felt as a
man. Perhaps it was so. That a woman's love must needs
be different.

Woman's necessity is to lose herself — to give herself
away. If she be hindered from doing this, in the sweet and
utter forgetfulness of a noble and unthwarted affection, her
next impulse is to self-sacrifice.

There are nuns ; there are nurses like Mehitable Samp
son; there are sisters and patronesses of charity; there are
hundreds — thousands — like Faith Gartney, who marry
from a pure, blind reaching for a holy sphere of good. They
have entreated God to lead them. They have given up self,
and sought His work of Him, Does He not guide ? Does
He not give it ?

The whole, long story, that He only sees, in its unfolding
shall surely show.

" Mr. Rushleigh's here !" shouted Hendie, precipitating
himself, next morning, into the breakfast-room, where, at a
rather later hour than usual, Mrs. Gartney and Faith were
washing and wiping the silver and china, and Mr. Gartney
still lingered in his seat, finishing somebody's long speech,
Deported in the evening paper of yesterday.

"Mr. Rushleigh 's here, on his long-tailed black horse!
And he says he '11 give me a ride, but not yet. He wants
to see papa. Make haste, papa."

Faith dropped her towel, and as Mr. Gartney rose to go
out and meet his visitor, just whispered, hurriedly, to her
mother, —

"I'll come down again. I '11 see him before he goes."
And escaped up the kitchen staircase to her own room.

Paul Rushleigh came, he told Mr. Gartney, because, al
though Faith had not authorized him to appeal to her father

226 FAITH GARTNEVS GIRLHOOD.

to ratify any consent of hers, he thought it right to let him
know what he had already said to his daughter. He did
not wish to hurry Faith. He only wished to stand openly
with Mr. Gartney in the matter, and would wait, then, till
she should be quite ready to give him her own answer.

He explained the prospect his father offered him, and the
likelihood of his making a permanent home at Kinnicutt.

" That is," he added, " if I am to be so happy as to have
a home, anywhere, of my own."

Mr. Gartney was delighted with the young man's unaf
fected warmth of heart and noble candor.

"I could not wish better for my daughter, Mr. Rush-
leigh," he replied. " And she is a daughter whom I may
fairly wish the best for, too."

Paul Rushleigh grasped the hand held out to him, in a
strong gratitude for the favor shown himself, and mute,
eloquent concurrence in the father's honest tribute to his
child's worth.

Mr. Gartney rose. " I will send Faith," said he.

" I do not ask for her," answered Paul, a flush of feeling
showing in his cheek. " I did not come, expecting it; —
my errand was one I owed to yourself; — but Faith knows
quite well how glad I shall be if she chooses to see me."

As Mr. Gartney crossed the hall from parlor to sitting-
room, a light step came over the front staircase.

Faith passed her father, with a downcast look, as he mo
tioned with his hand toward the room where Paul stood,
waiting. The bright color spread to her temples as she
glided in.

She held, but did not wear, the little turquoise ring.

Paul saw it, as he came forward eagerly.

A thrill of hope, or dread, — he scarce knew which, —

FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD. 227

quivered suddenly at his heart. Was he to take it back,
or place it on her finger as a pledge ?

"I have been thinking, Paul," said she, tremulously,
and with eyes that fell again away from his, after the first
glance and greeting, "almost ever since. And I do nof
think I ought to keep you waiting to know the little I cai
tell you. I do not think I understand myself. I cannot
tell, certainly, how I ought — how I do feel. I have liked
you very much. And it was very pleasant to me before all
this. I know you deserve to be made very happy. And
if it depends on me, I do not dare to say I will not try to
do it. If you think, yourself, that this is enough, — that I
shall do the truest thing so, — I will try."

And the timid little fingers laid the ring into his hand,
to do with as he would.

What else could Paul have done ?

With the strong arm that should henceforth uphold and
guard her, he drew her close ; and with the other hand
slipped the simply jewelled round upon her finger. For
all word of answer, he lifted it, so encircled, to his lips.

Faith shrank and trembled.

Hendie's voice sounded, jubilant, along the upper floor,
toward the staircase.

"I will go, now, if you wish. Perhaps I ought," said
Paul. "And yet, I would so gladly stay. May I come
again by-ancl-by ? "

Faith uttered a half-audible assent, and as Hendie's step
came nearer down the stairs, and passed the door, straight
«ut upon the gi'ass-plat, toward the gate, and the long-tailed
black horse that stood there, she escaped again to her own
chamber.

Hendie had his ride. Meanwhile, his sister, down upon

228

her knees at her bedside, struggled with the mystery and
doubt of her own heart. Why could she not feel happier?
Would it never be otherwise? Was this all life had for
her, in its holiest gift, henceforth ? But, come what might,
Bhe would have God, always !

So, without words, only with tears, she prayed, and at
last, grew calm.

CHAPTER XXIV.

CONFLICT.

O Life, O Beyond,

Art thou fair I—art thou sweet ? "

MRS. BROWITINO.

WE live two lives. A life of our deepest thought and
feeling, that gets stirred but seldom; and a surface-life
among things and words.

The great events that come to us wear two aspects. One
when we look at them from the inmost, and measure them
in all their mighty relation to what is everlasting; and
again another as they effect only the little outward details
of doing.

One hour, we are alone before God, and the soul's grasp
stretches out toward the Infinite. All that befalls or may
befall it, then seems great, momentous. We sleep, — we
rise, — we are our daily petty selves again, — presences
and voices come about that call us back into our superficial
round, — and, underneath, for weal or woe, the silenced
tide of our real being surges onward — whither ?

So the river freezes over, and bears a merriment upon its
bosom. So the great earth whereon we dwell wears its
crust of hills and plains and cities above its everlasting

fires.

229

230 FAITH GARTNEyS GIRLHOOD.

There followed days that almost won Faith back into her
outward life of pleasantness.

Margaret came over with Madam Rushleigh, and fe
licitated herself and friend, impetuously. Paul's mother
thanked her for making her son happy. Old Mr. Rush
leigh kissed her forehead with a blessing. And Mr. and
Mrs. Gartney looked upon their daughter as with new eyes
of love. Hendie rode the black horse every day, and de
clared that " everything was just as jolly as it could be ! "

Paul drove her out, and walked with her, and talked of
his plans, and all they would do and have together.

And she let herself be brightened by all this outward
cheer and promise, and this looking forward to a happiness
and use that were to come. But still she shrank and trem
bled at every lover-like caress, and still she said, fearfully,
every now and then, —

"Paul, — I don't feel as you do. What if I don't love
you as I ought ? "

And Paul called her his little oversensitive, conscientious
Faithie, and persuaded himself and her that he had no fear
— that he was quite satisfied.

When Mr. Armstrong came to see her, gravely and ten
derly wishing her joy, and looked searchiugly into her face
for the pure content that should be there, she bent her head
into her hands and wept.

She was very weak, you say ? She ought to have known
her own mind better ? Perhaps. I speak of her as she
was. There are mistakes like these in life ; there are hearts
that suffer thus, unconscious of their ail.

The minister waited while the momentary burst of emo
tion subsided, and something of Faith's wonted manner
returned.

FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD. 231

"It is very foolish of me," she said, "and you must
think me very strange. But, somehow, tears come easily
when one has been feeling a great deal. And such kind
words from you touched me."

" My words and thoughts will always be kind for you,
any child. And I know very well that tears may mean
sweeter and deeper things than smiles. I will not try you
with much talking now. You have my affectionate wishes
and my prayers. If there is ever any help that I can give,
to you who have so much loving help about you, count on
me as an earnest friend, always."

The hour was past when Faith, if she could ever, could
have asked of him the help she did most sorely need.

And so, with a gentle hand-clasp, he went away.

Mr. Gartney began to be restless about Michigan. He
wanted to go and see this wild estate of his. He would
have liked to take his wife, now that haying would soon be
over, and he could spare the time from his farm, and make
it a pleasant summer journey for them both. But he could
neither leave Faith, nor take her, well, it seemed. Hendie
might go. Fathers always think their boys ready for the
woi'ld when once they are fairly out of the nursery.

One day, Paul came to Cross Corners with news.

Mr. Rushleigh had affairs to be ai'ranged and looked to,
in New York, — matters connected with the mills, which
had, within a few weeks, begun to run, — he had been
there, once, about them ; he could do all quite well, now,
by letter, and an authorized messenger; he could not just
now very well leave Kinnicutt. Besides, he wanted Paul
eo see and know his business friends, and to put himself in
the way of valuable business information. Would Faith
spare him for a week or two, — he bade his son to ask.

232 FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD.

Madam Rushleigh would accompany Paul; and before
his return he would go with his mother to Saratoga, where
her daughter Gertrude and Mrs. Philip Rushleigh were,
and where he was to leave her for the remainder of their
stay.

Margaret liked Kinnicutt better than any watering-place ;
aud she and her father had made a little plan of their own,
which, if Faith would go back with him, they would explain
to her.

So Faith went over to Lakeside to tea, and heard the
plan.

" We are going to make our first claim upon you, Faith,'1
said the elder Mr. Rushleigh, as he led his daughter-in-law
elect out on the broad piazza under the Italian awnings,
when the slight summer evening repast was ended. "We
want to borrow you, while madam and the yonker are gone.
Your father tells me he wishes to make a western journey
Now, why not send him off at this very time ? I think your
mother intends accompanying him ? "

"It had been talked of," Faith said; "and perhaps her
father would be very glad to go when he could leave her in
such good keeping. She would tell him what Mr. Rush
leigh had been so kind as to propose."

It was a suggestion of real rest to Faith, — this free
companionship with Margaret again, in the old girlish fash
ion, — and the very thoughtful look, that was almost sad,
which had become habitual to her face, of late, brightened
into the old, 'careless pleasure, as she spoke.

Mr. Rushleigh noted. A little doubt, like a quick shade,
crossed him, for the first time.

It was almost like a look of relief. And Paul was to be
*way !

FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD. 233

Paul and his mother came out on the piazza, and Madam
Rushleigli drew Faith to a place between them, on the wide
Indian settee.

Margaret went to the piano, and sang her twilight songs.
And the sweet tones floated out from the open windows, and
lingered about them as they sat there ; and then diffused
themselves away upon the still, warm air, into faint vibra
tions, lost to human hearing ; yet spreading, — who can tell?
perhaps, — in a rare, ethereal joy of melody, the mere soul
of music, whereof the form, like all other form, may die,
while the spirit, once evoked, lives on forever, and reaching
with each thinned, successive wave, some listening, adapted
sense in the great deep of being.

The elegant comfort, the refined pleasantness, the family
joy that reigned in the Rushleighs' home, and that welcomed
and took Faith in, and made her an essential part of it, —
how could it help but win her to a glad content ? All these
accompanying relationships and circumstances made an
exterior sphere for her that was so suited to her feeling and
her taste, that in it she always lost, for the moment, her
doubt, and accepted, involuntarily, the obvious good of this,
her secondary life.

It was only when she forgot all else, and turned her
thought, self-searchingly, to her tie with him who was to be
the life-long, unchanging centre, henceforth, of whatever
world, in all the years to come, might gather and shift about
her, that the fear and the shrinking came back.

She was happier, somehow, when father, mother, and
sister, with their winning endearments, were all about her
with him, than when he claimed her to himself, and sought
to speak or show his tenderness.

Old Mr. Rushleigh saw something in this that began to
seem to him more than mere maidenly shyness.

234 FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD.

By-and-by, Margaret called her brother to sing with her.

" Corne, Faithie," said Paul as he rose, drawing her
gently by the hand. " I can't sing unless you go, too."

Faith went; more, it seemed, of his will, than her own.

"How does that appear to you?" said Mr. Rushleigh to
his wife. " Is it all right ? Does the child care for Paul ? "

" Care ! " exclaimed the mother, almost surprised into too
audible speech. "How can she help caring? And hasn't
it grown up from childhood with them ? What put such a
question into your head ? I should as soon think of doubt
ing whether I care for you."

It was easier for the father to doubt, jealously, for his
son, than for the mother to conceive the possibility of indif
ference in the woman her boy had chosen.

"Besides," added Mrs. Rnshleigh, "why, else, should
she have accepted him? I know Faith Gartney is not
mercenary, or worldly ambitious."

" I am quite sure of that, as well," answered her husband.
" It is no doubt of her motive or her worth, — I can't say
it is really a doubt of anything ; but, Gertrude, she must
not marry the boy unless her whole heart is in it! A
sharp stroke is better than a life-long pain."

"I'm sure I can't tell what has come over you! She
can't ever have thought of anybody else ! And she seems
quite one of ourselves."

"Yes; that's just the uncertainty," replied Mr. Rush
leigh. " Whether it isn't as much Margaret, and you and
I, as Paul. Whether she fully knows what she is about.
She can't marry the family, you know. We shall die, and
go off, and Heaven knows what; Paul must be the whole
world to her, or nothing. I hope he has n't hurried her,—
or let her hurry herself."

FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD. 235

" Hurry ! She has had years to make up her ruind in ! "

Mrs. Rushleigh, woman as she was, would not under
stand.

" We shall go, in three days," said Paul, when he stood
in the moonlight with Faith at the little white gate under
the elms, after driving her home; "and I must have you
all the time to myself, until then ! "

Faith wondered if it were right that she shouldn't
quite care to be "had all the time to himself until then"?
Whether such demonstrativeness and exclusiveness of affec
tion was ever a little irksome to others as to her ?

Faith thought and questioned, often, what other girls
might feel in positions like her own, and tried to judge her
self by them ; it absolutely never occurred to her to think
how it might have been if another than Paul had stood in
this relation toward herself.

The young man did not quite have his own way, however.
His father went down to Mishaumok on one of the three
days, and left him in charge at the mills ; and there were
people to see, and arrangements to make ; but some part of
each day he did manage to devote to Faith, and they had
walking and driving together, and every night Paul staid
to tea at Cross Corners.

On the last evening, they sat together, by the hill-side
door, in the summer pai'lor.

"Faithie," said Paul, a little suddenly, " there is some
thing you must do for me — do you know ? "

" What is it? " asked Faith, quite calmly.

" You must wear this, now, and keep the forget-me-not
for a guard."

He held her hand, that wore the ring, in one of his, and
there was a flash of diamonds as he brought the other to
ward it.

236 FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD.

Then Faith gave a quick, strange cry.

"I can't! I can't! Oh, Paul! don't ask me!" And
her hand was drawn from the clasp of his, and her face was
hidden in both her own.

Paul drew back — hurt, silent.

" If I could only wait ! " she murmured. " I don't dare,
yet ! "

She could wear the forget-me-not, as she wore the memory
of all their long young friendship ; it belonged to the past ;
but this definite pledge for the future, — these diamonds !

" Do you not quite belong to me, even yet ? " asked Paul,
with a resentment, yet a loving and patient one, in his
voice.

"I told you," said Faith, "that I would try — to be to
you as you wish; but, Paul! if I couldn't be so, truly? —
I don't know why I feel so uncertain. Perhaps it is because
you care for me too much. Your thought for me is so
great, that mine, when I look at it, never seems worthy."

Paul was a man. He could not sue, too cringingly, even
for Faith Gartney's love.

" And I told you, Faith, that I was satisfied to be allowed
to love you. That you should love me a little, and let it
grow to more. But if it is not love at all, — if I frighten
you, and repel you, — I have no wish to make you unhappy.
I must let you go. And yet — oh, Faith ! " he cried, — the
sternness all gone, and only the wild love sweeping through
his heart, and driving wild words before it, — "it can't be
that it is no love, after all ! It would be ioo cruel ! "

At those words, " I must let you go," spoken apparently
with calmness, as if it could be done, Faith felt a bound of
freedom in her soul. If he would let her go, and care foi
her in the old way, only as a friend ! But the strong pas

FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD. 237

Bionate accents came after; and the old battle of doubt and
pity and remorse surged up again, and the cloud of their
strife dimmed all perception, save that she was very, very
wretched.

She sobbed, silently.

" Don't let us say good-bye, so," said Paul. "Don't let
us quarrel. We will let all wait, as you wish, till I come
home again."

So he still clung to her, and held her, half-bound.

" And your father, Paul? And Margaret? How can I
let them receive me as they do, — how can I go to them as
I have promised, in all this indecision ? "

" They want you, Faith, for your own sake. There is no
need for you to disappoint them. It is better to say nothing
more until we do know. I ask it of you, — do not refuse
me this, — to let all rest just here; to make no difference
until I come back. You will let me write, Faith ? "

" Why, yes, Paul," she said, wonderingly.

It was so hard for her to comprehend that it could not be
with him, any longer, as it had been ; that his written or
his spoken word could not be, for a time, at least, mere
friendly any more.

And so she gave him, unwittingly, this hope to go with.

" I think you do care for me, Faith, if you only knew it ! "
said he, half sadly and very wistfully, as they parted.

" I do care, very much," Faith answered, simply and
earnestly. " I never can help caring. It is only that I am
afraid I care so differently from you ! "

She was nearer loving him at that moment, than she had
ever been.

Who shall attempt to bring into accord the seeming con
tradictions of a woman's heart?

CHAPTER XXV,

A GAME AT CHESS.

"Life's burdens fall, its discords cease,
I lapse into the glad release
Of nature's own exceeding peace."

WHITTIER.

"I DON'T see," said Aunt Faith, "why the child canH
come to me, Henderson, while you and Elizabeth are away.
I don't believe in putting yourself under obligations to peo
ple till you 're sure they 're going to be something to you.
Things don't always turn out according to the Almanac."

" She goes just as she always has gone to the Rush-
leighs," replied Mr. Gartney. "Paul is to be away. It is
a visit to Margaret. Still, I shall be absent- at least a
fortnight, and it might be well that she should divide her
time, and come to Cross Corners for a few days, if it is only
to see the house opened and ready. Luther can have a bed
here, if Mis' Battis should be afraid."

Mis' Battis was to improve the fortnight's interval for a
visit to Factory Village.

"Well, fix it your own way," said Miss Henderson.
" I 'rn ready for her, any time. Only, if she is going to
peak and pine as she has done ever since this grand match
was settled for her, Glory and I'll have our hands full,

Dursing her, by then you get back ! "

238

FAITH GARTNEY' 8 GIRLHOOD. 239

" Faith is quite well," said Mrs. Gartney. " It is natural
girl to be somewhat thoughtful when she decides foi
b^rself such an important relation."

"Symptoms differ, in different cases. / should say she
»vas taking it pretty hard," said the old lady.

Mr. and Mrs. Gartney left home on Monday.

Faith and Mis' Battis remained in the house a few hour*
ifter, setting all things in that dreary "to rights" before
leaving, which is almost, in its chillness and silence, like
burial array. Glory came over to help ; and when all was
done, — blinds shut, windows and doors fastened, fire out,
ashes removed, — stove blackened, — Luther drove Mis'
Battis and her box over to Mrs. Pranker's, and Glory took
Faith's little bag for her to the Old House.

This night she was to stay with her aunt. She wanted
just this little pause and quiet before going to the Rush-
leighs1.

" Tell Aunt Faith I'm coming," said she, as she let her
self and Glory out at the front door, and then, locking it,
put the key in her pocket. "I'll just walk up over the
Ridge first, for a little coolness and quiet, after this busy
day."

It had been truly so busy, that Faith had had no time
for facing her intruding thoughts ; but put them all off, and
thrust them back, as it were, into the antechamber of her
mind, to be bidden in when she should be more at leisure ;
and even yet, she would not let them crowd upon her with
their importunate errands. She wanted just this little time
for respite. This Monday evening should be all peaceful.
There was a natural reaction from the tense strain that had
been upon thought and feeling, that made this at once an
instinct and a possibility. She held perself in a passiveness
that would, for awhile, neither feel nor consider.

240 FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD.

She walked up the shady path to the boulder rock, and
cradled herself iu its stony hollow, — just where she had
sat and listened, weeks before, to Roger Armstrong's story.

The summer sweetness, distilled all day by the glowing
sun out of all growing things, came up to and around her.
Beauty and stillness folded her as in a garment. She was
in God's world still ! Whatever world of fear and doubt
and struggle her spirit might be groping into, dimly, things
outside her were unchanged. She would come back into,
and live in them for a few brief hours of utter and child
like calm.

There was the peace of a rested body and soul upon her
face when she came down again a half hour after, and
crossed the lane, and entered, through the stile, upon the
field-path to the Old House. Heart and will had been laid
asleep, — earthly plan and purpose had been put aside in
all their incompleteness and uncertainty, — and only God
and Nature had been permitted to come near.

Mr. Armstrong walked down and met her midway in the
field.

"How beautiful mere simpleness and quiet are," said
Faith. " The cool look of trees and grass, and the stillness
of this evening time, are better even than flowers, and bright
sunlight, and singing of birds ! "

" ' He maketh me to lie down in green pastures : He
leadeth me beside the still waters : He restoreth my soul :
He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for His name's
sake.'"

They did not disturb the stillness by more words. They
came up together, in the hush and shadow, to the pleasant
doorstone, that offered its broad invitation to their entering
feet, and where Aunt Faith at this moment stood, watching
and awaiting them.

FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD. 241

" Go into the blue bedroom, and lay off your things,
child," she said, giving Faith a kiss of welcome, " and then
come back and we '11 have our tea."

Faith disappeared through passages and rooms beyond.

Aunt Henderson turned quickly to the minister.

"You're her spiritual adviser, aint you?" she asked
abruptly.

" I ought to be," answered Mr. Armstrong.

" Why don't you advise her then ? "

" Spiritually, I do and will, in so far as so pure a spirit can
need a help from me. But, — I think I know what you
mean, Miss Henderson, — spirit and heart are two. I am a
man ; and she is — what you know."

Miss Henderson's keen eyes fixed themselves, for a minute,
piercingly and unflinchingly, on the minister's face. Then
she turned, without a word, and went into the house to
see the tea brought in. She knew, now, all there was
to tell.

Faith's face interpreted itself to Mr. Armstrong. He
saw that she needed, and would have, rest. Kest, this
night, from all that of late had given her weariness and
trouble. So, he did not even talk to her in the way they
mostly talked together ; he would not rouse, ever so distantly,
thought, that might, by so many subtle links, bear round
upon her hidden pain. But he brought, — after tea, when
the faint little shaded lamp, that hardly quarrelled with the
twilight, or, if it did, made nothing more than a drawn
battle of it, so that dor-bugs and mosquitoes could not
make up their minds, positively, that they should do better
inside than out, was lit in the southeast room, — a tiny
chess-board, and set the delicate carved men upon it, and
asked her if she knew the game.

242 FAITH GAHTNETS GIRLHOOD.

" A little," sbe said. " "What everybody always ow.is to
knowing — the moves."

" Suppose we play."

It was a very pleasant novelty, — sitting down with this
grave, earnest friend to a game of skill, — and seeing him
bring to it all the resource of power and thought that he
bent, at other times, on more important work.

Whatever Roger Armstrong did, he did with the might
that was in him.

"Not that, Miss Faith! You don't mean that! You
put your queen in danger."

" My queen is always a great trouble to me," said Faith,
smiling, as she retracted the half-made move. " I think I
do better when I give her up in exchange."

" Excuse me, Miss Faith ; but that always seems to me a
cowardly sort of game. It is like giving up a great power
in life because one is too weak to claim and hold it."

" Only I make you lose yours too."

" Yes, there is a double loss and inefficiency. Does that
make a better game, or one pleasanter to play? "

"There are two people, in there, talking riddles; and
they don't even know it," said Miss Henderson to her hand
maid, in the kitchen close by.

Perhaps Mr. Armstrong, as he spoke, did discern a pos
sible deeper significance in his own words ; did misgive him
self that he might rouse thoughts so ; at any rate, he made
rapid, skilful movements on the board, that brought the
jr-ame into new complications, and taxed all Faith's attention
to avert their dangers to herself.

For half an hour, there was no more talking.

Then Faith's queen was put in helpless peril.

"I must give her up," said she. " She is all but gone.

FAITH GARTNETS GIRLHOOD. 243

A few moves inore, and all Faith's hope depended on one
little pawn,that might be pushed to queen and save her game.

" How one does want the queen-power at the last ! " said
she. "And how much easier it is to lose it, than to get it
back."

"It is like the one great, leading possibility, that life, in
some sort, offers each of us," said Mr. Armstrong. " Once
lost, — once missed, — we may straggle on without it, — we
rnay push little chances forward to partial amends; but the
game is changed ; its soul is gone."

As he spoke he made the move that led to obvious check
mate.

Glory came in to the cupboard, now, and began putting
up the tea-things she had brought from washing.

Mr. Armstrong had done just what, at first, he had meant
not to do. Had he bethought himself better, and did he
seize the opening to give vague warning where he might not
speak more plainly ? Or, had his habit, as a man of thought,
discerning quick meaning in all things, betrayed him into
the instant's forgetfulness ?

However it might be, Glory caught glimpse of two strange
pained faces over the little board and its mystic pieces.

One, pale, — downcast, — with expression showing a sud
den pang ; the other, suffering also, yet tender, self-forgetful,
loving, — looking on.

"I don't know whichever is worst," she said afterward,
without apparent suggestion of word or circumstance, to her
jaistress; " to see the beautiful times that there are in the
World, and not be in 'em, — or to see people that might be
in 'em, and aint ! "

They were all out on the front stoop, later. They sat in
.he cool, summer dusk, and looked out between the arched

244 FAITH QARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD.

lattices, where the vines climb up, seeing the stars rise,
tar away,eastwarclly,in the blue ; and Mr. Arinstrong.talking
with Faith, managed to win her back into the calm he had,
for an instant, broken ; and to keep her from pursuing the
thought that by-and-by would surely come back, and which
she would surely want all possible gain of strength to grap
ple with.

Faith met his intention bravely, seconding it with her own.
These hours, to the last, should still be restful. She would
not think, to-night, of those words that had startled her so,
— of all they suggested or might mean, — of life's great
possibility lost to him, away back in the sorrowful past, as
she also, perhaps was missing it, — relinquishing it, — now.

She knew not that his thought had been utterly self-
forgetful. She believed that he had told her, indirectly, of
himself, when he had spoken those dreary syllables, — " the
game is changed. Its soul is gone ! "

Singularly, that night again, as on the night so long ago,
when Faith had come on her little visit of exploration to
Kinnicutt, the lesson read them from the Bible was that
miracle of the loaves and fishes.

A comfort came to Faith, as she listened ; as the comfort
we need at the moment always does come, by the instant
gift of the Spirit, through whatever Gospel-words may be
its vehicle.

The loaves might be few and small ; life might be scant
and insufficient seemingly; yet a touch Divine should multi
ply the food, and make it ample !

Nevertheless, — did she remember this ? That, but the
next day after, the disciples, with this recognized Divine-
ness at their side, stood self-rebuked, because they had
neglected to make for themselves such human provision aa
they might have done ?

CHAPTER XXVI.

LAKESIDE.

" Look ! are the southern curtains drawn r
Fetch me a fan, and so begone 1

Rain me sweet odors on the air,
And wheel me up my Indian chair;
And spread some book not overwise
Flat out before my sleepy eyes."

O. W. HOLMES.

THE Rushleighs' breakfast-room at Lakeside was very
lovely in a summer's morning.

Looking off, northwestwardly, across the head of the
Pond, the long windows, opening down to the piazza, let in
all the light and joy of the early day, and that inde
scribable freshness born from the union of woods and
water.

Faith had come down long before the others, this fair
Wednesday morning.

Mr. llushleigh found her, when he entered, sitting by a
window, — a book upon her lap, to be sure, — but her eyes
away off over the lake, and a look in them that told of
thoughts horizoned yet more distantly.

Last night, he had brought homo Paul's first letter.

When he gave it to her, at tea time, with a gay and
kindly word, the color that deepened vividly upon her face.

245

246 FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD.

and the quiet way in which she laid it down beside her
plate, were nothing strange, perhaps ; but — was he wrong?
the eyes that drooped so quickly as the blushes rose, and
then lifted themselves again so timidly to him as he next
addressed her, were surely brimmed with feeling that was
nat quite, or wholly glad.

And now, this wistful, silent, musing, far-off look !

" Good morning, Faithie ! "

"Good morning." And the glance came back, — the
reverie was broken, — Faith's spirit informed her visible
presence again, and bade him true and gentle welcome.
"You haven't your morning paper yet? I'll bring it.
Thomas left it in the library, I think. He came back from
the early train half an hour ago."

" Can't you women tell what 's the matter with each
other?" said Mr. Rushleigh to his daughter, who entered
by the other door, as Faith went out into the hall. " What
ails Faith, Margaret ? "

" Nothing of consequence, I think. She is tired with
all that has been going on, lately. And then she 's the
shyest little thing ! "

"It's a sort of shyness that don't look so happy as it
might, it seems to me. And what has become of Paul's
diamonds, I wonder? I went with him to choose some,
last week. I thought I should see them next upon her
finger."

Margaret opened her eyes widely. Of course, this was
the first she had heard of the diamonds. Where could they
be, indeed? Was anything wrong? They had not surely
quarrelled !

Faith came in with the paper. Thomas brought up
breakfast And presently, these three, with all their

FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD. 247

thoughts of and for each other, that reached into the long
years to come, and had their roots in all that had gone by,
were gathered at the table, seemingly with no further anx
iety than to know whether one or another would have toast
or muffins, — eggs or raspberries.

Do we not — and most strangely and incomprehensibly —
live two lives ?

"I must write to my mother, to-day," said Margaret,
when her father had driven away to the mills, and they
had brought in a few fresh flowers from the terrace for the
vases, and had had a little morning music, which Margaret
always craved, " as an overture," she said " to the day."

" I must write to my mother; and you, I suppose, will be
busy with answering Paul ? "

A little consciousness kept her from looking straight in
Faith's face, as she spoke. Had she done so, she might
have seen that a paleness came over it, and that the lips
trembled.

" I don't know," was the answer. " Perhaps not, to
day."

"Not to-day? "Won't he be watching every mail? I
don't know much about it, to be sure ; but I fancied lovers
were such uneasy, exacting creatures ! "

"Paul is very patient," said Faith, — not lightly as
Margaret had spoken, but as one self-reproached, almost,
for abusing patience, — " and they go to-morrow to Lake
George. He won't look for a letter until he gets to Sara
toga."

She had calculated her time as if it were the minutes of a
reprieve.

"I hadn't thought of that," said Margaret. "How
came you to reckon so closely? But, for me, I must write,

248 FAITH GARTNETS GIRLHOOD.

simply because I have just heard from mamma. My ideas
are like champagne — good for nothing after the first effer
vescence. And the cork is drawn, always, the minute I
get a letter myself! If I wait till next day, it may as well
never be answered ; and, very likely, never will ! "
I When Paul Rushleigh, with his mother, reached Sara-
' toga, he found two letters there, for him. One kind, sim
ple, but reticent, from Faith — a mere answer to that which
she could answer, of his own. The other was from his
father.

"There seems," he wrote to his son, toward the close,
"to be a little cloud upon Faith, somehow. Perhaps it is
one you would not wish away. It may brighten up and
roll off, at your return. You, possibly, understand it better
than I. Yet I feel, in my strong anxiety for your true
good, impelled to warn you against letting her deceive her
self and you, by giving you less than, for her own happi
ness and yours, she ought to be able to give. Do not marry
the child, Paul, if there can be a doubt of her entire affec
tion for you. You had better go through life alone, than
with a wife's half-love. If you have reason to imagine that
she feels bound by anything in the past to what the present
cannot heartily ratify, — release her. I counsel you to this,
not more in justice to her, than for the saving of your own
peace. She writes you to-day. It may be that the anti
dote comes with the hurt. I may be quite mistaken. But
I hurt you, my son, only to save a sorer pain. Faith is
true. If she says she loves you, believe her, and take her,
though all the world should doubt. But if she is fearful,
— if she hesitates, — be fearful, and hesitate yourself, lest
your marriage be no true marriage before heaven ! "
Paul Rushleigh thanked his father, briefly, for his admo-

FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD. 249

oition, in reply. He wrote, also, to Faith — affectionately,
but with something, at last, of her own reserve. He should
not probably write again. In a week, or less, he would be
horn ).

And behind, and beyond all this, that could be put on
paper, was the hope of a life, — the sharp doubt of days, —
waiting the final word !

In a week, he would be home ! A week 1 It might
bring much !

Wednesday had come round again.

Dinner was nearly ended at Lakeside. Cool jellies, and
creams, and fruits, were on the table for dessert. Steaming
dishes of meats and vegetables had been gladly sent away,
but slightly partaken. The day was sultry. , Even now,
at five in the afternoon, the heat was hardly mitigated from
that of midday.

They lingered over their dessert, and spoke, rather lan
guidly, of what might be done after.

" For me," said Mr. Rushleigh, " I must go down to the
mills again, before night. If either, or both of you . like a
drive, I shall be glad to have you with me."

"Those hot mills!" exclaimed Margaret. "What an
excursion to propose ! "

" I could find you a very cool corner, even in those hot
mills," replied her father. " My little sanctum, up stairs,
that overlooks the river, and gets its breezes, is the freshest
place I have been in, to-day. Will you go, Faith? "

"Oh, yes! she'll go! I see it in her eyes!" said Mar
garet. " She is getting to be as much absorbed in all those
frantic looms and things, — that set me into a fever just to
think of, whizzing and humming alL day long in this horri-
tle heat, — as you are ! I believe she expects to help Paul

250 FAITH GARTNERS GIRLHOOD.

oversee the factory, one of these days, she is so fierce to peer
into and understand everything about it. Or else, she
means mischief! You had a funny look in your face,
Faithie, the other day, when you stood there by the great
rope that hoists the water-gate, and Mr. Blasland was ex
plaining it to us ! "

" I was thinking, I remember,11' said Faith, " what a
strange thing it was to have one's hand on the very motive
power of it all. To see those great looms, and wheels, and
cylinders, and spindles, we had been looking at, and hear
nothing but their deafening roar all about us, and to think
that even I, standing there with my hand upon the rope,
might hush it all, and stop the mainspring of it in a
minute ! "

Ah, Faithie ! Did you think, as you said this, how
your little hand lay, otherwise, also, on the mainspring
and motive of it all ? One of the three, at least, thought
ol it, as you spoke.

"Well, — your heart's in the spindles, I see!" rejoined
Margaret. "So, don't mind me. I haven't a bit of a
plan for your entertainment, here. I should n't, probably,
Bpeak to you, if you staid. It 's too hot for anything but
A book, and a fan, and a sofa by an open window ! "

I aith laughed ; but, before she could reply, a chaise
rolled up to the open front door, and the step and voice
of Doctor Wasgatt were heard, as he inquired for Miss
Gartney.

Faith left her seat, with a word of excuse, and met him
in the hall.

" I. had a patient up this way," said he. " and came
roUn'< to bring you a message from Miss Henderson.
Nothing to be frightened at, in the least; only that she

FAITH GABTNET'S GIRLHOOD. 251

is n't quite so well as ordinary, these last hot days, and
thought perhaps you might as lief come over. She said
she was expecting you for a visit there, before your folks
get back. No, thank you ; " as Faith motioned to conduct
him to the drawing-room, — "can't come in. Sorry 1
could n't offer to take you down ; but I 've got more visits
to make, and they lie round the other way."

"Is Aunt Faith ill?"

"Well, — no. Not so but that she'll be spry again in
a day or two; especially if the weather changes. That
ancle of hers is troublesome, and she had something of an
ill turn last night, and called me over this morning. She
seems to have taken a sort of fancy that she'd like to have
you there."

" I '11 come."

And Faith went back, quickly, as Doctor Wasgatt de
parted, to make his errand known, and to ask if Mr. Rush-
leigh would mind driving her round to Cross Corners, after
going to his mills.

" Wait till to-morrow, Faithie," said Margaret, in the
tone of one whom it fatigues to think of an exertion, even
for another. " You '11 want your box with you, you know ;
and there is n't time for anything to-night."

"I think I ought to go now," answered Faith. "Aunt
Henderson never complains for a slight ailment, and she
might be ill again to-night. I can take all I shall need
before to-morrow in my little morocco bag. I won't keep
you waiting a minute," she added, turning to Mr. Rush-
leigh.

" I can wait twenty, if you wish," he answered, kindly.

But in less than ten, they were driving down toward the
river.

252 FAITH GARTNET'S GIRLHOOD.

Margaret Rushleigh had betaken herself to her own cou»
chamber, where the delicate straw matting, and pale green,
leaf-patterned chintz of sofa, chairs, and hangings, gave a
feeling of the last degree of summer lightness and dainti
ness, and the gentle air breathed in from the southwest,
sifted, on the way, of its sunny heat, by the green dra
peries of vine and branch it wandered through.

Lying there, on the cool, springy cushions of her couch,
— turning the fresh-cut leaves of the August " Mishau-
mok," — she forgot the wheels and the spindles — the hot
mills, and the ceaseless whirr.

Just at that moment of her utter comfort and content, a
young factory girl dropped, fainting, in the dizzy heat, be
fore her loom.

CHAPTER XXVH.

AT THE MILLS.

" For all day the wheels are droning, turning, —

Their wind comes in our faces, —

Till our hearts turn, — our head with pulses horning,—
And the walls turn in their places."

MRS. BROWNING.

FAITH sat silent by Mr. Rushleigh's side, drinking in,
also, with a cool content, the river air that blew upon their
faces as they drove along.

"Faithie!" said Paul's father, a little suddenly, at
last, — "do you know how true a thing you said a little
while ago ? "

"How, sir? " asked Faith j-not perceiving what he meant.

"When you spoke of having your hand on the main
spring of all this ? "

And he raised his right arm, motioning with the slender
whip he held, along the line of factory buildings that lay
before them.

A deep, blazing blush burned, at his word, over Faith's
cheek and brow. She sat and suffered it under his eye, —
ottering not a syllable.

" I knew you did not know. You did not think of it so
Y"et it is true, none the less. — Faith! Are you happy?

Are you satisfied ? "

253

254 FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD.

Still a silence, and tears gathering in the eyes.

"I do not wish to distress you, my dear. It is only a
little word I should like to hear you speak. I must, so
far as I can, see that my children are happy, Faith."

"I suppose," said Faith, tremulously, struggling to
speech, — "one cannot expect to be utterly happy in this
world."

" One does expect it, forgetting all else, at the moment
when is given what seems to one life's first, great good, —
the earthly good that comes but once. I remember my
own youth, Faithie. Pure, present content is seldom over-
wise."

"Only," said Faith, still tremblingly, "that the respon
sibility comes with the good. That feeling of having one's
hand upon the mainspring is a fearful one."

''I am not given," said Mr. Rushleigh, "to quoting
Bible at all times ; but you make a line of it come up to
me. ' There is no fear in love. Perfect love casteth out
fear.'"

"Be sure of yourself, dear child. Be sure }rou are con
tent and happy ; and tell me so, if you can ; or, tell me
otherwise, if you must, without a reserve or misgiving,"
he said again, as they drove down the mill-entrance ; and
their conversation, for the time, came, necessarily, to an
end.

Coming into the mill-yard, they were aware of a little
commotion about one of the side doors.

The mill-girl who had fainted sat here, surrounded by two
or three of her companions, slowly recovering.

"It is Mary Grover, sir, from up at the Peak," said one
of them, in reply to Mr. Rushleigh's question. " She has n't
been well for some days, but she 's kept on at her work

FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD. 25o

and the heat, to-day, was too much for her. She 'd ought
to be got home, if there was any way. She can't ever
walk."

"I'll take her, myself," said the mill-owner, promptly.
" Keep her quiet here a minute or two, while I go in and
speak to Blasland."

But first he turned to Faith again. " What shall I do
with you, my child ? "

"Dear Mr. Rushleigh," said she, with all her gratitude
for his just spoken kindness to herself and her appreciation
of his ready sympathy for the poor work-girl, in her voice,
— " don't think of me ! It 's lovely out there over the foot
bridge, and in the fields; and that way, the distance is
nearly nothing to Aunt Faith's. I should like the walk, —
really."

"Thank you," said Mr. Rushleigh. "I believe you
would. Then I '11 take Mary Grover up to the Peak."

And he shook her hand, and left her standing there, and
went up into the mill.

Two of the girls who had come out with Mary Grover,
followed him and returned to their work. One, sitting with
her in the door-way, on one of the upper steps, and sup
porting her yet dizzy head upon her shoulder, remained.

Faith asked if she could do anything, and was answered,
no, with thanks.

She turned away, then, and walked over the planking
above the race-way, toward the river, where a pretty little
foot-bridge crossed it here, from the end of the mill-building.

Against this end, projected, on this side, a square, tower-
like appendage to the main structure, around which one
must pass to reach the foot-bridge. A door at the base
opened upon a staircase, leading up. This was the entrance

256 FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD.

to Mr. Rushleigh's " sanctum," above, which communicated,
also, with the second story of the mill.

Here Faith paused. She caught, from around the corner,
a sound of the angry voices of men.

" I tell you, I '11 stay here till I see the boss ! "

" I tell you, the boss won't see you. lie 's done with
jou."

" Let him be done with me, then ; and not go spoiling
my chance with other people ! I '11 see it out with him,
somehow, yet."

"Better not threaten. He won't go out of his way to
meddle with you ; only it 's no use your sending anybody
here after a character. He 's one of the sort that speaks
the truth and shames the devil."

"I '11 let him know he aint boss of the whole country
round ! D— d if I don't ! "

Faith turned away from hearing more of this, and from
facing the speakers ; and took refuge up the open staircase.

Above, — in the quiet little counting-room, shut off by
double doors at the right from the great loom-chamber of
the mill, and opening at the front by a wide window upon
the river that ran tumbling and flashing below, spanned by
the graceful little bridge that reached the green slope of
the field beyond, — it was so cool and pleasant, — so still
with continuous and softened sound, — that Faith sat down
upon the comfortable sofa there, to rest, to think, to be
alone, a little.

She had Paul's letter in her pocket ; she had his father's
words fresh upon ear and heart. A strange peace came
over her, as she placed herself here ; as if, somehow, a way
was soon to be opened and made clear to her. As if she
should come to know herself, and to be brave to act as God
should show her how

FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD. '.61

She heard, presently, Mr. Kushleigh's voice in the mill-
yard, and then the staircase door closed and locked below.
Thinking that he should be here no more, to-night, he had
shut and fastened it.

It was IK» natter. She would go through the mill, by-
aiid-by, and look at the looms ; and so out, and over the
river, then, to Aunt Faith,*

22*

CHAPTER XXVI II.

LOCKED IN.

" How idle it is to call certain thinjrs godsends ! as if there weie any
g eJse in the world." HAKE.

IT 13 accounted a part of the machinery of invention
when, in a story, several coincident circumstances, that apart,
would have had no noticeable result, bear down together,
with a nice and sure calculation upon some catastrophe or
denouement that develops itself therefrom.

Does not God work out our human fate by the bee-linea
of His Providence ? From points afar and seemingly sep
arate, the threads of agency begin. And, straight to one
fore-ordered purpose, move on, undeviatingly, as we trace
them, to the converging point, where the divine meaning
and plan shall be consummated.

God, — let it be said reverently, — is the Great Novelist,
and Architect of circumstance. When we see the lives of
men, that he writes out daily, in actual fact, about us, can
we think, for an instant, that our poor imagining and con
triving can go beyond His infinite possibilities, — His hourly
accomplishments? Can transcend, by any ingenuity, Hia
groupings and combinings, when a thing is willed to be ?

Last night, a man, — an employe in Mr. Eushleigh's fac
tory; — had been kept awake by one of his children, taken

FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD. 259

suddenly ill. A slight matter, — but it has to do with our
story.

Last night, also, Faith, — Paul's second letter just re
ceived, — had lain sleepless for hours, fighting the old battle
over, darkly, of doubt, pity, half-love, and indecision. She
had felt, or had thought she felt, — thus, or so, — in the
days that were past. Why could she not be sure of her
feeling now ?

The new wine in the old bottles, — the new cloth in the
old garment, — these, in Faith's life, were at variance.
What satisfied once, satisfied no longer. Was she to blame?
VVhat ought she to do ? There was a seething — a rending.
Jfoor heart, that was likely to be burst and torn, — won-
ieringly, helplessly, — in the half- comprehended struggle!

So it happened, that, tired with all this, sore with its
daily pressure and recurrence, this moment of strange peace
oarne over her, and soothed her into rest.

She laid herself back, there, on the broad, soft, old-fash
ioned sofa, and with the river breeze upon her brow, and the
song of its waters in her ears, and the deadened hum of
the factory rumbling on, — she fell asleep.

A heavy sleep it was ; as if some waiting angel bore her
soul a-rfaj, away, — far off from all earthly sound and asso
ciation, — «nd left her body there to utter rest.

And so, — strangely, perhaps, but it was so, — the fac
tory-bell, at tile far end of the long building, sent its clang
out on the air that seized and bore it from the river, and
the busy operatives hurried out from their place of toil,
and streamed m long lines homeward, and the rumbling
hushed, and left un/y the noise of falling and rushing
waters in her ears, — and still Faith slumbered on.

How long it had been, she could not tell ; she knew not

200 FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD.

whether it were evening, or midnight, or near the morning ;
but she felt cold and cramped ; everything save the busy
river was still, and the daylight was all gone, and stars out
bright in the deep, moonless sky, when she awoke.

Awoke, bewilderedly, and came slowly to the comprehen
sion that she was here alone. That it was night, — that
nobody could know it, — that she was locked up here, in
the great dreary mill.

She raised herself upon the sofa, and sat in a terrified
amaze. She took out her watch, and tried to see, by the
starlight, the time. The slender black hands upon its
golden face were invisible. It ticked, — it was going. She
knew, by that, it could not be far beyond midnight, at the
most. She was chilly, in her white dress, from the night
air. She went to the open window, and looked out from it,
before she drew it down. Away, over the fields, and up
and down the river, all was dark, solitary.

Nobody knew it, — she was here alone.

She shut the window, softly, afraid of the sounds her
self might make. She opened the double doors from the
counting-room, and stood on the outer threshold, and looked
into the mill. The heavy looms were still. They stood
like great, dead creatures, smitten in the midst of busy
motion. There was an awfulness in being here, the only
breathing, moving ining, — in darkness, — where so lately
had been the deafening hum of rolling wheels, and clanking
shafts, and flying shuttles, and busy, moving human figures.
It was as if the world itself were stopped, and she forgotten
on its mighty, silent corse.

Should she find her way to the great bell, ring it, and
make an alarm ? She thought of this ; and then she reasoned
with herself that she was hardly so badly off, as to justify

FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD. 261

her, quite, in doing that. It would rouse the village, it
would bring Mr. Eushleigh down, perhaps, — it would
cause a terrible alarm. And all that she might be spared
a few hours longer of loneliness and discomfort. She was
safe. It would soon be morning. The mill would be opened
early. She would go back to the sofa, and try to sleep
again. Nobody could be anxious about her. The Eush-
leighs supposed her to be at Cross Corners. Her aunt
would think her detained at Lakeside. It was really no
great matter. She would be brave, and quiet.

So she shut the double doors again, and found a coat of
Paul's, or Mr. Eushleigh's, in the closet of the counting-
room, and lay down upon the sofa, covering herself with
that.

For an hour or more, her heart throbbed, her nerves were
excited, she could not sleep. But at last she grew calmer,
her thought wandered from her actual situation, — became
indistinct, — and slumber held her again, dreamily.

There was another sleeper, also, in the mill whom Faith
knew nothing of.

Michael Garvin, the night-watchman, — the same whose
child had been ill the night before, — when Faith came out
into the loom-chamber, had left it but a few minutes, going
his silent round within the building, and recording his faith
fulness by the half-hour pin upon the watch-clock. Six
times .he had done this, already. It was half-past ten.

He had gone up, now, by the stairs from the weaving-
room, into the third story. These stairs ascended at the
front, from within the chamber.

Michael Garvin went on nearly to the end of the room
above, — stopped, and looked out at a window. All stili,
»11 safe apparently.

262 FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD.

He was very tired. What harm in lying down
vhere in a corner, for five minutes ? He need not shut hi&
eyes. He rolled his coat up for a pillow, and threw it
against the wall beneath the window. The next instant
he had stretched his stalwart limbs along the floor, and
define ten minutes of his seventh half hour were epent, —
long before Faith, who thought herself all alone in the great
ouilding, had lost consciousness of her strange position, —
fie was fast asleep.

Fast asleep, here, in the third story !

So, since the days of the disciples, men have grown
heavy and forgotten their trust. So they have slumbered
upon decks, at sea. So sentinels have lain down at picket-
posts, though they knew the purchase of that hour of rest
might be the leaden death !

Faith Gartney dreamed, uneasily.

She thought herself wandering, at night, through the
deserted streets of a great city. She seemed to have come
from somewhere afar off, and to have no place to go to.

Up and down, through avenues sometimes half familiar,
sometimes wholly unknown, she went wearily, without aim,
or end, or hope. " Tired ! tired ! tired ! " she seemed to
say to herself. " Xowhere to rest, — nobody to take care
of me ! "

Then, — city, streets?, and houses disappeared ; the scenery
>f her dream rolled away, and opened out, and she was
standing on a high, bare cliff, away up in wintry air ; threat
ening rocky avalanches overhanging her, — chill winds
piercing her, — and no pathway visible downward. Still
crying out in loneliness and fear. Still with none to com
fort or to help.

Standing on the sheer edge of the precipice, — behind

FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD. 263

her, suddenly, a crater opened. A hissing breath came up,
and the chill air quivered and scorched about her. Her
feet were upon a volcano ! A lake of boiling, molten stone
heaved, — huge, brazen, bubbling, — spreading wider and
wider, like a great earth-ulcer, eating in its own brink con-
cinually. Up in the air over her, reared a vast, sulphur
ous canopy of smoke. The narrowing ridge beneath her
feet burned, — trembled. She hovered between two de
structions.

Instantly, — in that throbbing, agonizing moment of her
dream, just after which one wakes, — she felt a presence, —
she heard a call, — she thought two arms were stretched
out toward her, — there seemed a safety and a rest near by ;
she was borne by an unseen impulse, along the dizzy ridge
that her feet scarce touched, toward it ; she was taken, —
folded, held ; smoke, fire, the threatening danger of the cliff,
were nothing, suddenly, any more. Whether they menaced
still, she thought not ; a voice she knew and trusted was in
her ear ; a grasp of loving strength sustained her ; she was
utterly secure.

So vividly she felt the presence, — so warm and sure
seemed that love and strength about her, — that waking out
of such pause of peace, before her senses recognized any
thing that was real without, she stretched her hands, as if
to find it at her side, and her lips breathed a name, — the
name of Eoger Armstrong.

Then she started to her feet The kind, protecting pr&s-
ence faded back into her dream.

The horrible smoke, the scorching smell, were true.

A glare smote sky and trees and water, as she saw them
from the window.

There was fire near her 1

264 FAITH GARTtfEY'S GIRLHOOD.

Could it be among the buildings of the mill ?

The long, main structure ran several feet beyond the
square projection within which she stood. Upon the other
side, close to the front, quite away, of course, from all obser
vation hence, joined, at right angles, another building,
communicating and forming one with the first. Here were
the carding rooms. Then beyond, detached, were houses
for storage and other purposes connected with the business.

Was it from one of these the glare and smoke and suffo
cating burning smell were pouring ?

Or, lay the danger nearer, — within these close, contigu
ous walls ?

Vainly she threw up the one window, and leaned forth.

She could not tell

/Lt this moment, Koger Armstrong, also, woke from out a
dream.

in this strange, second life of ours, that replaces the life
of aay, do we not meet interiorly ? Do not thoughts and
knowledges cross, from spirit to spirit, over the abyss, that
lip, and eye, and ear, in waking moments, neither send nor
receive? That ^ven mind itself is scarcely conscious of ?
Is not the great deep of being, wherein we rest, electric with
a sympathetic life, — and do not warnings and promises and
cheer pulse in upon us, mysteriously, in these passive hours
of the flesh, when soul only is awake and keen ?

Do not two thoughts, two consciousnesses, call and answer
to each other, mutely, in twin dreams of night ?

Eoger Armstrong cajie in, late, that evening, from a visit
to a distant sick parishioner. Then he sat, writing, for an
oour or two longer.

By-and-by he threw down his pen, — pushed back hia

FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD. 265

arm-chair before his window, — stretched his feet, wearily,
into the deep, old-fashioned window-seat, — leaned his head
back, and let the cool breeze stir his hair.

So it soothed him into sleep.

He dreamed of Faith. He dreamed he saw her stand,
afar off, in some solitary place, and beckon, as it were, visibly,
from a wide, invisible distance. He dreamed he struggled
to obey her summons. He battled with the strange inertia
of sleep. He strove, — he gasped, — he broke the spell
and hastened on. He plunged, — he climbed, — he stood
in a great din that bewildered and threatened ; there was a
lurid light that glowed intense about him as he went ; in
the- midst of all, — beyond, — she beckoned still.

" Faith ! Faith ! What danger is about you, child ? "

These words broke forth from him aloud, as he started to
his feet, and stretched hi** hands, impulsively, out before
him, toward the open window.

His eyes flashed wide upon that crimson glare that flooded
sky and field and river.

There was fire at the mills !

Not a sound, yet, from the sleeping village.

The heavy, close-fitting double doors between the count
ing-room and the great mill-chamber were shut. Only by
opening these and venturing forth, could Faith gain certain
knowledge of her situation.

Once more she pulled them open and passed through.

A blinding smoke rushed thick about her, and made her
gasp for breath. Up through the belt-holes in the floor,
toward the farther end of the long room, sprang little
tongues of flame that leaped higher and higher, even while
she strove for sight, that single, horrified, suffocating instant,

23

266 FAITH G^LRTNEY'S GIRLHOOD.

and gleamed, mockingly, upon the burnished shafts of silent
looms.

In at the windows on the left, came the vengeful shine
of those other windows, at right angles, in the adjacent
building. The carding-rooms, and the whole front of the
mill, below, were all in flames !

In frantic affright, in choking agony, Faith dashed herself
back through the heavy doors, that swung on springs, and
closed tightly once more after her.

Here, at the open window, she took breath. Must she
wait here, helpless, for the fiery death ?

Down below her, the narrow brink. — the rushing river.
No foothold, — no chance for a descent. Behind her, only
those two doors, barring out flame and smoke !

And the little foot-bridge, lying in the light across the
water, and the green fields, stretching away, cool and safe
beyond. A little farther — her home 1

" Fire ! "

She cried the fearful word out upon the night, uselessly.
There was no one near. The village slumbered on, awaj
there to the left. The strong, deep shout of a man might
reach it, but no tone of hera There were no completed or
occupied dwelling-houses, as yet, about the new mills. 'Mr.
Rushleigh was putting up some blocks ; but, for the present,
there was nothing nearer than the village proper of Kinui-
cutt on the one hand, and as far, or farther, on the other
the houses at Lakeside.

The flames themselves, alone, could signal her danger, auu
summon help. How long would it be first ?

Thoughts of father, mother, and little brother, — thoughts
of the kind friends at Lakeside, parted from but a few hours
before, — thoughts of the young lover to whom the answer

FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD. 267

he waited for should be given, perhaps, so awfully ; —
through all, lighting, as it were, suddenly and searchingly,
the deep places of her own soul, the thought, — the feeling,
rather, of that presence in her dream ; of him who had led
her, taught her, lifted her so, to high things; — brought
her nearer, by his ministry, to God ! Of all human influ
ence or love, his was nearest and strongest, spiritually, to
her, now!

All at once, across these surging, crowding, agonizing
feelings, rushed an inspiration for the present moment.

The water-gate ! The force-pump !

The apparatus for working these lay at this end of the
building. She had been shown the method of its operation ;
they had explained to her its purpose. It was perfectly
simple. Only the drawing of a rope over a pulley, — the
turning of a faucet. She could do it, if she could only
reach the spot.

Instantly and strangely, the cloud of terror seemed to roll
away. Her faculties cleared. Her mind was all alert and
quickened. She thought of things she had heard of years
before, and long forgotten. That a wet cloth about the face
would defend from smoke. That down low, close to the
floor, was always a current of fresher air.

She turned a faucet that supplied a basin in the counting-
room, held her handkerchief to it, and saturated it with water.
Then she tied it across her forehead, letting it hang before
her face like a veil. She caught a fold of it between her
teeth.

And so, opening the doors between whose cracks the pent-
up smoke was curling, she passed through, crouching down,
ttnd crawled along the end of the chamber, toward the great
rope in the opposite corner.

268 FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD.

The fire was creeping thitherward, also, to meet her
Along from the front, down the chamber on the opposite side,
the quick flames sprang and flashed, momently higher, catch-
ing already, here and there, from point to point, where an
oiled belt or an unfinished web of cloth attracted their hun- .
gry tongues.

As yet, they were like separate skirmishers, sent out in
advance ; their mighty force not yet gathered and rolled
together in such terrible sheet and volume as raged beneath.

She reached the corner where hung the rope.

Close by, was the faucet in the main pipe fed by the
force-pump. Underneath it, lay a coil of hose, attached
and ready.

She turned the faucet, and laid hold of the long rope.
A few pulls, and she heard the dashing of the water far
below. The great wheel was turning.

The pipes filled. She lifted the end of the coiled hose,
and directed it toward the forward part of the chamber,
where flames were wreathing, climbing, flashing. An im
petuous column of water rushed, eager, hissing, upon
blazing wood and heated iron.

Still keeping the hose in her grasp, she crawled back
again, half stifled, yet a new hope of life aroused within
her, to the double doors. Before these, with the little
counting-room behind her, as her last refuge, she took her
stand.

How long could she fight off death ? Till help came ?

All this had been done and thought quickly. There
had been less time than she would have believed, since she
first woke to the knowledge of this, her horrible peril.

The flames were already repulsed. The mill was being
flooded. Down the belt-holes thv wuter poured upon the

FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD. 269

fiercer blaze below, that swept across the forward and cen
tral part of the great spinning-room, from side to side.

At this moment, a cry, close at hand.

" Fire ! "

A man was swaying by a rope, down from a third-story
window.

" Fire ! " came again, instantly, from without, upon
another side.

It was a voice hoarse, excited, strained. A tone Faith
had never heard before; yet she knew, by a mysterious
intuition, from whom it came. She dropped the hose, still
pouring out its torrent, to the floor, and sprang back,
through the doors, to the counting-room window. The
voice came from the river-side.

A man was dashing down the green slope, upon the foot
bridge.

Faith stretched her arms out, as a child might, wakened
in pain and terror. A cry, in which were uttered the fear,
the horror, that were now first fully felt, as a possible
safety appeared, and the joy, that itself came like a sudden
pang, escaped her, piercingly, thrillingly.

Koger Armstrong looked upward as he sprang upon the
bridge.

He caught the cry. He saw Faith stand there, in her
white dress, that had been wet and blackened in her bat
tling with the fire.

A great soul-glance of courage and resolve flashed from
bis eyes. He reached his uplifted arms toward her,
answering hers. He uttered not a word.

"Round! round!" cried Faith. "The door upon the
other side ! "

Boger Armstrong, leaping to the spot, and Michael Gar-

23*

270 FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD.

vin, escaped by the long rope that hung vibrating from hia
grasp, down the brick wall of the building, met at the
staircase door.

" Help me drive that in ! " cried the minister.

And the two men threw their stalwart shoulders against
the barrier, forcing lock and hinges.

Up the stairs rushed Eoger Armstrong.

Answering the crash of the falling door, came another
and more fearful crash within.

Gnawed by the fire, the timbers and supports beneath
the forward portion of the second floor had given way,
and the heavy looms that stood there had gone plunging
down. A horrible volume of smoke and steam poured
upward, with the flames, from out the chasm, and rushed,
resistlessly, everywhere.

Eoger Armstrong dashed into the little counting-room.
Faith lay there, on the floor. At that fearful crash, that
rush of suffocating smoke, she had fallen, senseless. He
seized her, frantically, in his arms to bear her down.

" Faith ! Faith ! " he cried, when she neither spoke nor
moved. " My darling ! Are you hurt ? Are you killed ?
Oh, my God ! must there be another ? "

Faith did not hear these words, uttered with all the
passionate agony of a man who would hold the woman he
loves to his heart, and defy for her even death.

She came to herself in the open air. She felt herself in
his arms. She only heard him say, tenderly and anxiously,
in something of his old tone, as her consciousness returned,
and he saw it, —

" My dear child ! "

But she knew then all that had been a mystery to her
in herself before.

FAITH GARTNEY S GIRLHOOD. 27i

She knew that she loved Roger Armstrong. That it was
not a love of gratitude and reverence, only ; but that her
very soul was rendered up to him, involuntarily, as a
woman renders herself but once. That she would rather
have died there, in that flame and smoke, held in his
arms, — gathered to his heart, — than have lived whatever
life of ease and pleasantness, — aye, even of use, — with
any other ! She knew that her thought, in those terrible
moments before he came, had been, — not father's or
mother's, only ; not her young lover, Paul's ; but, deepest
»nd mostly, hisi

CHAPTER XXIX.

HOME.

The joy that knows there is a joy —
That scents its breath, and cries, 't is there »

And, patient in its pure repose,
Eeceiveth so the holier share.

FAITH'S thought and courage saved the mill from uttel
destruction.

For one fearful moment, when that forward portion oi
the loom-floor fell through, and flame, and vapor, and smoke
rioted together in a wild alliance of fury, all seemed lost
But the great water-wheel was plying on ; the river fought
the fire ; the rushing, exhaustless streams were pouring out
and down, everywhere ; and the crowd that in a few moments
after the first alarm, and Faith's rescue, gathered at the
spot, found its work half done.

A little later, there were only sullen smoke, defeated,
smouldering fires, blackened timbers, the burned carding-
rooms, and the ruin at the front, to tell the awful story of
the night.

Mr. Armstrong had earned Faith into one of the unfin
ished factory houses. Here he was obliged to leave her
for a few moments, after making such a rude couch for her
as was possible, with a pile of clean shavings, and his own

FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD. 273

coat, which he insisted, against all her remonstrances, upon
spreading above them.

" The first horse and vehicle which comes, Miss Faith, 1
shall impress for your service," he said ; " and to do that I
must leave you. I have made that frightened watchman
promise to say nothing, at present, of your being here ; so
I trust the crowd may not annoy you. I shall not be gone
long, nor far away."

The first horse and vehicle which came was the one that
had brought her there in the afternoon but just past, yet
that seemed, strangely, to have been so long ago,

Mr. Kushleigh found her lying here, quiet, amid the
growing tumult, — exhausted, patient, waiting.

" My little Faithie ! " he cried, coming up to her with
hands outstretched, and a quiver of strong feeling in his
voice. " To think that you should have been in this hor
rible danger, and we all lying in our beds, asleep ! I do
not quite understand it all. You must tell me, by-and-by.
Armstrong has told me what you have done. You have
saved me half my property here, — do you know it, child ?
Can I ever thank you for your courage ? "

" Oh, Mr. Kushleigh !" cried Faith, rising as he came to
her, and holding her hands to his, " don't thank me ! and
don't wait here ! They '11 want you, — and, oh ! my kind
friend! there will be nothing to thank me for, when I
have told you what I must. I have been very near to death,
and I have seen life so clearly ! I know now what I did
not know yesterday, — ^hat I could not answer you then ! "

" Let it be as it may, I am sure it will be right and true,
and I shall honor you, Faith ! And we must bear what is,
for it has come of the will of God, and not by any fault of
yours. Now, let me take you home."

SJ74 FAITH GARTNET'S GIRLHOOD.

" May I do that in your stead, Mr. Rushleigh ? " astefl
Roger Armstrong, who entered at this moment, with gar
ments he had brought from somewhere to wrap Faith.

" I must go home," said Faith. " To Aunt Henderson's."

" You shall do as you like," answered Mr. Rushleigh.
" But it belongs to us to care for you, I think."

"You do, — you have cared for me already," said Faith
earnestly.

And Mr. Rushleigh helped to wrap her up, and kissed
her forehead tenderly, and Roger Armstrong lifted her into
the chaise, and seated himself by her, and drove her away
from out the smoke and noise and curious crowd that had
begun to find out she was there, and that she had been shut
up in the mill, and had saved herself and stopped the fire ;
and would have made her as uncomfortable as crowds
always do heroes or heroines, — had it not been for the
friend beside her, whose foresight and precaution had
warded it all off.

And the mill-owner went back among the villagers and
firemen, to direct their efforts for his property.

Glory McWhirk had been up and watching the great fire,
since Roger Armstrong first went out.

She had seen it from the window of Miss Henderson's
room, where she was to sleep to-night ; and had first care
fully lowered the blinds lest the light should waken her
mistress, who, after suffering much pain, had at length, by
the help of an anodyne, fallen asleep ; and then she had
come round softly to the southwest room, to call the minister.

The door stood open, and she saw him sitting in his
itair, asleep. Just as she crossed the threshold to come
toward him, fie started, and spoke those words out of his
restless dream.

FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD. 275

" Faith ! Faith ! What danger is about you, child ? "

They were instinct* with his love. They were eager
with his visionary fear. It only needed a human heart
to interpret them.

Glory drew back as he sprang to his .feet, and noiselessly
disappeared. She would not have him know that she had
heard this cry with which he waked.

" He dreamed about her ! and he called her Faith. How
beautiful it is to be cared for so ! "

Glory, — while we have so long been following Faith, —
had no less been living on her own, peculiar, inward life,
that reached to, that apprehended, that seized ideally, —
that was denied, so much !

God leads gome through life toward Himself, as a mother
wins a child, making its first feeble steps ; with good held
always in sight, and always out beyond the grasp. There
are those, who perceiving, longing, falling short, continually
put off, still struggle on and keep the best in view. There
are those again, who sit down, tamely, by the way, and
turn to some inferior, easy joy.

As Glory had seen, in the old years, children happier than
herself, wearing beautiful garments, and " hair that was
let to grow," she saw those about her now whom life en
folded with a grace and lovelines% she might not look for ;
about whom fair affections, " let to grow, " clustered radi
ant, and enshrined them in their light.

She saw always something that was beyond ; something
she might not attain ; yet, expectant of nothing, but blindly
true to the highest within her, she lost no glimpse of the
greater, through lowering herself to the less.

Her soul of womanhood asserted itself; longing, igno.
rantly, for a soul love. " To be cared for, so 1 "

276 FAITH GARTNET'S GIRLHOOD.

But she would rather recognize it afar, — rather have her
joy in knowing the joy that might be, — than shut herself
from knowledge in the content of a common, sordid lot.

She did not think this deliberately, however ; it was not
reason, but instinct. She renounced unconsciously. She
bore denial, and never knew she was denied.

Of course, the thought of daring to covet what she saw,
had never crossed her, in her humbleness. It was quite
away from her. It was something with which she had
nothing to do. " But it must be beautiful to be like Mi &
Faith." And she thanked God, mutely, that she had tms
beautiful life near her, and could look on it every day.

She could not marry Luther Goodell.

" A vague unrest
And a nameless longing filled her breast ; "

But, unlike the maiden of the ballad, she could not smother
it down, to break forth, by-and-by, defying the " burden of
life," in sweet bright vision, grown to a keen torture then.

Faith had read to her this story of Maud, one day.

" I should n't have done so," she had said, when it wag
ended. I "d rather have kept that one minute under the
apple-trees to live on all the rest of my days ! "

She could not marry Buther Goodell.

Would it have been better that she should? That she
ehould have gone down from her dreams into a plain man's
life, and made a plain man happy ? Some women, of far
higher mental culture and social place, have done this, and,
seemingly, done well. Only God and their own hearts know
if the seeming be true.

Glory waited. "Everybody needn't marry," she said

This night, with those words of Mr. Armstrong's in hei

FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD. 277

ears, revealing to her so much, she stood before that window
of his and watched the fire.

Doors were open behind her, leading through to Misa
Henderson's chamber. She would hear her mistress if she
stirred.

, If she had known what she did not know, — that Faith
(•artney stood at this moment in that burning mill, looking
forth despairingly on those bright waters and green fields
that lay between it and this home of hers, — that were so
near her, she might discern each shining pebble and the
separate grass-blades in the scarlet light, yet so infinitely far,
so gone from her forever, — had she known all this, with
out knowing the help and hope that were coming, — she
would yet have said " How beautiful it would be to be like
Miss Faith ! "

She watched the fire till it began to deaden, and the
glow paled out into the starlight.

By-and-by, up from the direction of the river-road, she
saw a chaise approaching. It was stopped at the corner,
by the bar-place. Two figures descended from it, and
entered upon the field-path through the stile.

One, — yes, — it was surely the minister 1 The other,
— a woman. Who ?

Miss Faith !

Glory met them upon the door-stone.

Faith held her finger up.

" I was afraid of disturbing my aunt," said she.

" Take care of her, Glory," said her companion. " She
has been in frightful danger."

"At the fire ! And you — "

" I was there in time, thank God 1 " spoke Eoger Arm-
strong, from his soul.

24

278 FAITH GARTNET'S GIRLHOOD.

The two girls passed through to the blue bedroom,
uoftly.

Mr. Armstrong went back to the mills again, with horse
and chaise.

Glory shut the bedroom door.

" Why, you are all wet, and draggled, and smoked ! "
said she, taking off Faith's outer, borrowed garments.
" What has happened to you, — and how came you there.
Miss Faith ? "

" I fell asleep in the counting-room, last evening, and
got locked in. I was coming home. I can't tell you now,
Glory. I don't dare to think it all over, yet. And we
must n't let Aunt Faith know that I am here."

These sentences they spoke in whispers.

Glory asked no more ; but brought warm water, and
bathed and rubbed Faith's feet, and helped her to undress,
and put her night-clothes on, and covered her in bed with
blankets, and then went away softly to the kitchen, whence
she brought back, presently, a cup of hot tea, and a bis
cuit.

" Take these, please," she said.

" I don't think I can, Glory. I don't want anything."

" But he told me to take care of you, Miss Faith ! "

That, also, had a power with Faith. Because he lad
said that, she drank the tea, and then lay back, — so
tired!

" I waited up till you came, sir, because I thought you
would like to know," said Glory, meeting Mr. Armstrong
once more upon the door-stone, as he returned a second
time from the fire. " She 's gone to sleep, and is resting
beautiful I "

FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD. 27$

" You are a good girl, Glory, and I thank you," said the
minister ; and he put his hand forth, and grasped hers aa
\if. spoke. " Now go to bed, and rest, yourself."

It was reward enough.

From the plenitude that waits on one life, falls a crumb
that stays the craving of another.

CMAPTEK XXX.
AUNT HENDERSON'S MYSTERY.

Oh, the little birds sang- east, and the little birds sang west,
And I said in underbreath, — All our life is mixed with death,
And who knoweth which is best ?

' Oh, the little birds sang east, and the little birds sang west,
And 1 smiled to think God's greatness flowed around our incomplete
ness, —

Bound our restlessness, His rest."

MRS. BROWNING.

" So the dreams depart,

So the fading phantoms flee,
And the sharp reality
Now must act its part."

WEST WOOD.

IT was a little after noon of the next day, when Mr.
Rushleigh came to Cross Corners.

Faith was lying back, quite pale, and silent, — feeling
very weak after the terror, excitement, and fatigue she had
gone through, — in the large easy-chair which had been
brought for her into the southeast room. Miss Henderson
had been removed from her bed to the sofa here, and the
two were keeping each other quiet company. Neither
could hear the strain of nerve to dwell long or particularly
on the events of the night. The story had been told, aa
nimply as it might be ; and the rest and the thankfulness

FAITH GARTNEF'S GIRLHOOD. 281

were all they could think of now. So there were deep
thoughts and few words between them. On Faith's part, a
patrent waiting for a trial yet before her.

" It 's Mr. Eushleigh, come over to see Miss Faith.
Shall I bring him in ? " asked Glory, at the door.

" Will you mind it, aunt ? " asked Faith.

" I ? No," said Miss Henderson. " Will you mind my
being here ? That 's the question. I 'd take myself off,
without asking, if I could, you know."

" Dear Aunt Faith ! There is something I have to say
to Mr. Eushleigh which will be very hard to say, but no
more so because you will be by to hear it. It is better so.
I shall only have to say it once. I am glad you should be
with me."

•' Brave little Faithie ! " said Mr. Kushleigh, coming in
with hands outstretched. " Not ill, I hope ? "

" Only tired," Faith answered. " And a little weak,
and foolish," as the tears would come, in answer to his cor
dial words.

" I am sorry, Miss Henderson, that I could not have
persuaded this little girl to go home with me last night, —
this morning, rather. But she would come to you."

"She did just right," Aunt Faith replied. "It's the
proper place for her to come to. Not but that we thank
you all the same. You 're very kind."

" Kinder than I have deserved," whispered Faith, as he
took his seat beside her.

Mr. Eushleigh would not let her lead him that way yet
lie ignored the little whisper, and by a gentle question or
two drew from her that which he had come, especially, to
learn and speak of to-day, — the story of the fire, and her
own knowledge of, and share in it, as she alone could tell il»

24*

282 FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD.

Now, for the first time, as she recalled it to explain her
motive for entering the mill at all, the rough conversation
she had overheard between the two men upon the river bank,
suggested to Faith, as the mention of it was upon her lips,
a possible clue to the origin of the mischief. She paused,
suddenly, and a look of dismayed hesitation came over her
face.

" I ought to tell you all, I suppose," she continued. "But
pray, sir, do not conclude anything hastily. The two things
may have had nothing to do with each other."

And then, reluctantly, she repeated the angry threat that
had come to her ears.

Pausing, timidly, to look up in her listener's face, to
judge of its expression, a smile there surprised her.

" See how truth is always best," said Mr. Eushleigh. " If
you had kept back your knowledge of this, you would have
sealed up a painful doubt for your own tormenting. That
man, James Eegan, came to me this morning. There is
good in the fellow, after all. He told me, just as you have,
and as Hardy did, the words he spoke in passion. He was
afraid, he said, they might be brought up against him. And
so he came to ' own up,' and account for his time ; and to
beg me to believe that he never bad any definite thought of
harm. I told him I did believe it ; and then the poor fel
low, rough as he is, turned pale, and burst into tears. Last
night gave him a lesson, I think, that will go far to take the
hardness out of him. Blasland says, ' he worked like five
men and a horse,' at the fire."

"Faith's face glowed as she listened, at the nobleness of
these two ; of the generous, Christian gentleman, — of the
coarse workman, who wore his nature, like his garb, — the
worse part of an every-day.

FAITH GAltTNEY'S GIRLHOOD, 283

Fire and loss are not all calamity, when such as this
comes of them.

Her own recital was soon finished.

Mr. Kushleigh listened, giving his whole sympathy to the
danger she had faced, his fresh and fervent acknowledg-
ment and admiring praise to the prompt daring she had
shown, as if these things, and nought else, had been in
either mind.

At these thanks, — at this praise, — Faith shrank.

" Oh, Mr, Rushleigh ! " she interrupted, with a low, pain
ed, humbled entreaty, — " don't speak so ! Only forgive me,
— if you can ! "

Her hands lifted themselves with a slight, imploring
gesture toward him. He laid his own upon them, gently,
soothingly.

" I will not have you trouble or reproach yourself, Faith,"
he answered, meeting her meaning, frankly, now. " There
are things beyond our control. All we can do is to be
simply true. There is something, I know, which you think
lies between us to be spoken of. Do not speak at all, if it
be hard for you. — I will tell the boy that it was a mis
take — that it cannot be."

But the father's lip was a little unsteady, to his own
feeling, as he said the words.

" Oh, Mr. Eushleigh ! " cried Faith. " If everything
could only be put back as it was, in the old days before all
this ! "

" But that is what we can't do. Nothing goes back pre
cisely to what it was before."

"No," said Aunt Faith, from her sofa. "And never
did, since the days of Humpty Dumpty. You might be
glad to, but you can't do it. Things must just be made

284 FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD.

the best of, as they are. And they 're never just alike, tw«
minutes together. They 're altering, and working, and
going on, all the time. And that 's a comfort, too, when
you come to think of it"

" There is always comfort, somehow, when there has been
DO wilful wrong. And there has been none here, I am sure."

Faith, with the half-smile yet upon her face, called there
by her aunt's quaint speaking, bent her head, and burst
into tears.

"I came to re-assure and to thank you, Faith — not to
let you distress yourself so," said Mr. Eushleigh. " Mar
garet sent all kind messages ; but I would not bring her.
I thought it would be too much for you, so soon. Another
day, she will come. We shall always claim old friendship,
my child, and remember our new debt ; though the old
days themselves cannot quite be brought back again as
they were. There may be better days, though, even, by-
and-by "

"Let Margaret know, before she comes, please,'"' whis
pered Faith. " I don't think I could tell her."

" You shall not have a moment of trial that I can spare
you. But — Paul will be content with nothing, as a final
word, that does not come from you."

" I will see him when he comes. I wish it. Oh, sir I I
am so sorry ! "

" And so am I, Faith. We must all be sorry. But we
are only sorry. And that is all that need be said."

The conversation, after this, could not be prolonged.
Mr. Rushleigh took his leave, kindly, as he had made hia
greeting.

" Oh, Aunt Faith ! What a terrible thing I have done 1 "

44 What a terrible thing you came near doing, you mean.

FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD. 235

child ! Be thankful to the Lord, — He 's delivered you
from it ! And look well to the rest of your life, after all
this. Out of fire and misery you must have been saved for
something ! "

Then Aunt Faith called Glory, and told her to bring an
egg, beat up in milk, — "to a good froth, mind; and
sugared and nutmegged, and a teaspoonful of brandy
in it."

• This she made Faith swallow, and then bade her put her
feet up on the sofa, and lean back, and shut her eyes, and
not speak another word till she 'd had a nap.

All which, strangely enough, Faith, — wearied, troubled,
yet relieved, — obeyed.

For the next two days, what with waiting on the invalids,
— for Faith was far from well, — and with answering the
incessant calls at the door of curious people flocking to
inquire, Glory McWhirk was kept busy and tired. But
not with a thankless duty, as in the days gone by, that
she remembered ; it was heart-work now, and brought
heart-love as its reward. It was one of her " real good
times."

Mr. Armstrong talked and read with them, and gave
hand-help and ministry also, just when it could be given
most effectually.

It was a beautiful lull of peace between the conflict that
•*as past, and the final pang that was to come. Faith ac-
^epted it with a thankfulness. Such joy as this was all
life had for her, henceforth. There was no restlessness, no
Belfishness in the love that had so suddenly asserted itself,
and borne down all her doubts She thought not of it, as
love, any more. She never dreamed of being other to Mr.
A.rmstrong than she was. Only, that other life had become

286 FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD.

impossible to her. Here, if she might not elsewhere, she
had gone back to the things that were. She could be quite
content and happy, so. It was enough to rest in such a
friendship. If only she had once seen Paul, and if he could
jut bear it !

And Koger Armstrong, of intent, was just what he had
always been, — the kind and earnest friend, — the ready
helper ; — no more. He knew Faith Gartney had a trouble
to bear1; he had read her perplexity, — her indecision; he
had feared, unselfishly, for the mistake she was making.
Miss Henderson had told him, now, in few, plain words, how
things were ending ; he strove, in all pleasant and thought
ful ways, to soothe and beguile her from her harassment
He dreamed not how the light had come to her that had
revealed to her the insufficiency of that other love. He laid
his own love back, from his own sight.

So, calmly, and with what peace they might, these hours
went on.

" I want to see that Sampson woman," said Aunt Faith,
suddenly, to her niece, on the third afternoon of their being
together. " Do you think she would come over here if I
should send for her? "

Faith flashed a surprised look of inquiry to Miss Hen
derson's face

" Why, aunt? " she asked.

" Never mind why, child. I can't tell you now. Of course
it's something, or I shouldn't want her. Something I
should like to know, and that I suppose she could tell me.
Do you think she 'd come ? "

" Why, yes, auntie. I don't doubt it. I might write her
a note."

" I wish you would. Mr. Armstrong says he '11 drive

FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD. 287

over. And I 'd like to have you do it right off. Now, don't
ask me another word about it, till she 's been here."

Faith wrote the note, and Mr. Armstrong went away.

Miss Henderson seemed to grow tired, to-day, after hex
dinner, and at four o'clock she said to Glory, abruptly, —

" I '11 go to bed. Help me into the other room."

Faith offered to go too, and assist her. But her aunt said.
no, she should do quite well with Glory, "^nd if the
Sampson woman comes, send her in to me."

Faith was astonished, and a little frightened.

What could it be that Miss Henderson wanted with the
nurse ? Was it professionally that she wished to see her ?
She knew the peculiar whim, or principle, Miss Sampson
always acted on, of never taking cases of common illness.
She could not have Hent for her in the hope of keeping her
merely to wait upon her wants as an invalid, and relieve
Glory ? Was her aunt aware of symptoms in herself, fore
tokening other or more serious illness ?

Faith could only wonder, and wait.

Glory came back, presently, into the southeast room, to
say to Faith that her aunt was comfortable, and thought she
should get a nap. But that whenever the nurse came, she
was to be shown in to her.

The next half-hour, that happened which drove even this
thought utterly from Faith's mind. .

Paul Eushleigh came.

Faith lay, a little wearily, upon the couch her aunt had
quitted ; and was thinking, at the very moment, — with
that sudden, breathless anticipation that sweeps over one,
now and then, of a thing awaited apprehensively, — of
whether this Saturday night would not probably bring him
dome, — when she caught the sound of a horse's feet that

288 FAITH GAMTNEY a GIRLHOOD.

stopped before the house, and then a man's step upon the
stoop.

It was his. The moment had come.

She sprang to her feet. For an instant she would have
fled, — anywhither. Then she grew strangely calm and
strong. She must meet him quietly. She must tell him
plainly. Tell him, if need be, all she knew herself. He
bad a right to all.

Paul came in, looking grave ; and greeted her with a
gentle reserve.

A moment, they stood there as they had met, she with
face pale, sad, that dared not lift itself; he, not trusting
himself to the utterance of a word.

But he had come there, not to reproach, or to bewail ; not
even to plead. To hear, — to bear with firmness, — what
she had to tell him. And there was, in truth, a new strength
and nobleness in look and tone, when, presently, he spoke.

If he had had his way, — if all had gone prosperously
with him, — he would have been, still, — recipient of hia
father's bounty, and accepted of his childish love, — scarcely
more than a mere, happy boy. This pain, this struggle,
this first rebuff of life, crowned him, a man.

Faith might have loved him, now, if she had so seen him,
first.

Yet the hour would come when he should know that it
had been better as it was. That so he should grow to that
which, otherwise, he had never been.

" Faith ! My father has told me. That it must be all over.
That it was a mistake. I have Come to hear it from you."

Then he laid in her hand his father's letter.

" This came with yours," he said. " After this, I ex
pected all the rest"

FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD, 289

Faith took the open sheet, mechanically. With half-
blinded eyes, she glanced over the few earnest, fatherly,
generous lines. When she came to the last, she spoke, low.

" Yes That is it. He saw it. It would have been nc
true marriage, Paul, before heaven ! "

"Then why did I love you, Faith?" cried the young
man, impetuously.

"I don't know," she said, meditatively, as if she really
were to answer that "Perhaps you will come to love
again, differently, yet, Paul ; and then you may know why
this has been."

"I know," said Paul, sadly, "that you have been out
growing me, Faith. I have felt that. I know I 've been
nothing but a careless, merry fellow, living an outside sort
of life ; and I suppose it was only in this outside compan
ionship you liked me. But there might be something more
in me, yet ; and you might have brought it out, maybe.
You were bringing it out. You, and the responsibilities
my father put upon me. But it 's too late, now. It can't
be helped."

" Not too late, Paul, for that noble part of you to grow.
It was that I came so near really loving at the last. But,
— Paul ! a woman don't want to lead her husband. She
wants to be led. I have thought," she added, timidly, " so
much of that verse in the Epistle, — 'the head of the woman
is the man, and the head of the man is Christ, and the head
of Christ is God.' "

" You came near loving me ! " cried Paul, catching at
this sentence, only, out of all that should, by-and-by, never
theless, come out in letters of light upon his thought and
memory. "Oh, Faith! you may, yet! It isn't all quite
9ver ? "

25

200 FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD.

Then Faith Gartney knew she must say it all. All, —
though the hot crimson flushed up painfully, and the breath
came quick, and she trembled from head to foot, there,
where she stood. But the truth, mighty, and holy in its
might, came up from heart to lip, and the crimson paled,
and the breath grew calm, and she stood firm with her pure
resolve, even in her maidenly shame, before him.

There are instants, when all thought of the moment
itself, and the look and the word of it, are overborne and
lost.

"No, Paul. I will tell you truly. With my little,
childish heart, I loved you. With the love of a dear
friend, I hold you still, and shall hold you, always. But,
Paul ! — no one else knows it, and I never knew it till I
stood face to face with death, — with my soul I have come
to love another ! "

Deep and low these last words were — given up from the
very innermost, and spoken with bowed head and streaming
eyes.

Paul Rushleigh took her hand. A manly reverence in
him recognized the pure courage that unveiled her woman's
heart, and showed him alL

" Faith ! " he said, " you have never deceived me. You
are always noble. Forgive me that I have made you strug
gle to love me ! "

With these words, he went

Faith flung herself upon the sofa, and hid her face in its
cushion, hearing, through her sobs, the tread of his horse an
he passed down the road.

This chapter of her life-story was closed.

CHAPTER XXXL
NURSE SAMPSON'S WAY OF LOOKING AT IT

" I can beliere, it shall you grieve,

And somewhat you distrain ;
But afterward, your paines hard,

AVithin a flay or twain,
Shall soon aslake ; aud ye shall take
Comfort to you again."

OLD ENGLISH BALLAD.

GLORY looked in, once, at the southeast room, and saw
Faith lying, still with hidden face ; and went away softly,
shutting the door behind her as she went.

"When Mr. Armstrong and Miss Sampson came, she met
them at the front entrance, and led the nurse directly to
her mistress, as she had been told.

Mr. Armstrong betook himself to his own room. Perhaps
the hollow Paul Kushleigh's horse had pawed at the gate
post, and the closed door of the keeping-room, revealed
something to his discernment that kept him from seeking
Faith just then.

There was a half-hour of quiet in the old house. A quiet
that overbrooded very much.

Then Nurse Sampson came out, with a look on her face
that made Faith gaze upon her with an awed feeling of
expectation. She feared, suddenly, to ask a question.

L"J2 FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD.

It was not a long-drawn look of sympathy. It was not
surprised, nor shocked, nor excited. It was a look of
business. As if she knew of work before her to do. As
if Nurse Sampson were in her own proper element, once
more.

Faith knew that something, — she could not guess what,
— something terrible, she feared, — had happened, or was
going to happen, to her aunt.

It was in the softening twilight that Miss Henderson
sent for her to come in.

Aunt Faith leaned against her pillows, looking bright
and comfortable, even cheerful ; but there was a strange
gentleness in look and word and touch, as she greeted the
young girl who came to her bedside with a face that wore
at once its own subduedness of fresh-past grief, and a won
dering, loving apprehension of something to be disclosed
concerning the kind friend who lay there, invested so with
such new grace of tenderness.

Was there a twilight, other than that of day, softening,
also, around her?

" Little Faith ! " said Aunt Henderson. Her very voice
had taken an unwonted tone.

" Auntie ! It is surely something very grave ! Will you
not tell me ? "

"Yes, child. I mean to tell you. It may be grave.
Most things are, if we had the wisdom to see it. But it
is n't very dreadful. It 's what I 've had warning enough
of, and had mostly made up my mind to. But I was n't
quite sure. Now, I am. I suppose I 've got to bear some
pain, and go through a risk that will be greater, at my
years, than it would have been if I 'd been younger. And
I may die. That 's alL"

FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD. 293

The words, of old habit, were abrupt. The eye and voice
were tender with unspoken love.

Faith turned to Miss Sampson, who sat by.

"And then, again, she mayn't," said the nurse. "1
shall stay and see her through. There'll have to be an
operation. At least, I think so. We '11 have the doctor
over, to-morrow. And now, if there 's one thing more im
portant than another, it 's to keep her cheerful. So, if
you 've got anything bright and lively to say, speak out !
If not, keep out ! She '11 do well enough, I dare say."

Poor Faith ! And, without this new trouble, there was
so much that she, herself, was needing comfort for !

" You 're a wise woman, Nurse Sampson. But you don't
know everything," said Aunt Faith. " The best thing to
take people out of their own worries, is to go to work and
find out how other folks' worries are getting on. — He 's
been here, has n't he, child ? "

It was not so hard for Aunt Faith, who had borne
secretly, so long, the suspicion of what was coming, and
had lived on, calmly, nevertheless, in her daily round1, to
turn thus from the announcement of her own state and pos
sible danger, to thought and inquiry for the affairs of an
other, as it was for that other, newly apprised, and but
half apprised, even, of what threatened, to leave the subject
there, and answer. But she saw that Miss Henderson
spoke only truth in declaring it was the best way to take
her out of her worries ; she read Nurse Sampson's look, and
saw that she, at any rate, was quite resolved her patient
should not be let to dwell longer on any painful or appre-
nensive thought, and she put off all her own anxious ques
tionings, till she should see the nurse alone, and said, in a
low tone, — yes ; Paul Rushleigh had been there.

25*

294 FAITH GAPTNEY'S GIRLHOOD.

" And you 've told him the truth, like a woman, and he 'a
heard it like a man ? "

" I 've told him it must be given up. Oh, it was hard,
auntie ! "

" You need n't worry. You 've done just the Tightest
thing you could do."

" But it seems so selfish. As if my happiness were of so
much more consequence than his. I 've made him so mis
erable, I 'm afraid ! "

" Miss Sampson !" cried Aunt Faith, with all her old
oddity and suddenness, "just tell this girl, if you know,
what kind of a commandment a woman breaks, if she can't
make up her mind to marry the first man that asks her 1
'T aint in my Decalogue ! "

" I can't tell what commandment she won't be likely to
break, if she is n't pretty sure of her own mind before she
does marry ! " said Miss Sampson, energetically. " Talk of
making a man miserable ! Supposing you do for a little
while ? 'T won't last long. Eight 's right, and settles itself.
Wrong never does. And there is n't a greater wrong than
to marry the wrong man. To him as well as to you. And
it won't end there, — that 's the worst of it. There 's more
concerned than just yourself and him ; though you may n't
know how, or who. It 's an awful thing to tangle up and dis
arrange the plans of Providence. And more of it 's done,
J verily believe, in this matter of marrying, than any other
way. It's like mismatching anything else, — gloves or
stockings, — and wearing the wrong ones together. They
don't fit ; and more 'n that, it spoils another pair. I believe,
as true as I live, if the angels ever do cry over this miserable
world, it 's when they see the souls they have paired off, all
right, out of heaven, getting mixed up and mismated as they

FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD. 295

tlo down here ! Why, it 's fairly enough to account for all
the sin and misery there is in the world ! If it was n't for
Adam and Eve and Cain, I should think it did ! "

" But it's very hard," said Faith, smiling, despite all her
saddening thoughts, at the characteristic harangue, "alwaya
to know wrong from right. People may make mistakes, if
they mean ever so well."

" Yes, awful mistakes! There's that poor, unfortunate
woman in the Bible. I never thought the Lord meant any
reflection by what he said, — on her. She 'd had six hus
bands. And he knew she had n't got what she bargained
for, after all. Most likely she never had, in the whole six.
And if things had got into such a snarl as that eighteen hun
dred years ago, how many people, do you think, by this time,
are right enough in themselves to be right for anybody ?
1 've thought it all over, many a time. I 've had reasons of
my own, and I 've seen plenty of reasons as I 'vegone about
the world. And my conclusion is, that matrimony 's come
to be more of a discipline, now-a-days, than anything else ! "

It was strange cheer ; and it came at a strange moment ;
with the very birth of a new anxiety. But so our moments
and their influences are mingled. Faith was roused,
strengthened, confirmed in her own thought of right, be
guiled out of herself, by the words of these two odd, plain-
dealing women, as she would not have been if a score of
half-comprehending friends had soothed her indirectly with
inanities, and delicate half-handling of that which Aunt
Faith and Nurse Sampson went straight to the heart of, and
brought out, uncompromisingly, into the light. So much
we can endure from a true earnestness and simplicity, rough
und homely though it be, which would be impertinent and
intolerable if it came but with surf ace- sympathy.

296 FAITH GARTNEY.'S GIRLHOOD.

She had a word that night from "Roger Armstrong, when
he came, late in the evening, from a conversation with
Aunt Faith, and found her at the open door upon the stoop.
It was only a hand-grasp, and a fervent " God bless you,
child! You have been brave and true! " and he passed on.
But a balm and a quiet fell deep into her heart, and a tone,
that was a joy, lingered in her ear, and comforted her as no
other earthly comfort could. But this was not all earthly ;
it lifted her toward heaven. It bore her toward the eternal
solace there.

Aunt Faith would have no scenes. She told the others,
in turn, very much as she had told Faith, that a suffering
and an uncertainty lay before her ; and then, by her next
word and gesture, demanded that the life about her should
go right on, taking as slightly as might be its coloring from
this that brooded over her. Nobody had a chance to make
a wail. There was something for each to do.

Miss Henderson, by Nurse Sampson's advice, remained
mostly in her bed. In fact, she had kept back the an
nouncement of this ailment of hers, just so long as she
could resist its obvious encroachment. The twisted ancle
had been, for long, a convenient explanation of more than
its own actual disability.

But it was not a sick-room, — one felt that, — this little
limited bound in which her life was now visibly encircled.
A.11 the cheer of the house was brought into it If people
were sorry and fearful, it was elsewhere. Neither Aunt
Faith nor the nurse would let anybody into " their hospital,"
as Miss Sampson said, "unless they came with a bright
look for a pass." Every evening, the great Bible was opened
there, and Mr. Armstrong read with them, and uttered foi
them words that lifted each heart, with its secret need and

FAITH GARTNET'S GIRLHOOD. 297

thankfulness, 10 heaven. All together, trustfully, and tran
quilly, they waited.

Dr. Wasgatt had been called in. Quite surprised he was,
at this new development. He "had thought there was
something a little peculiar in her symptoms." But he wag
one of those ^Esculapian worthies who, having lived a scien
tifically uneventful life, plodding quietly along in his pro
fession among people who had mostly been ill after very
ordinary fashions, and who required only the administering
of stereotyped remedies, according to the old stereotyped
order and rulQ, had quite forgotten to think of the possi
bility of any unusual complications. If anybody were
taken ill of a colic, and sent for him and told him so, for a
colic he prescribed, according to outward indications. The
subtle signs that to a keener or more practised discern
ment, might have betokened more, he never thought of
looking for. What then ? All cannot be genuises ; most
men just learn a trade. It is only a Columbus who, by the
drift along the shore of the fact or continent he stands on,
predicates another, far over, out of sight.

Surgeons were to come out from Mishaumok to consult.
Mr. and Mrs. Gartney would be home, now, in a day or two,
and Aunt Faith preferred to wait till then. Mis' Battia
opened the Cross Corners house, and Faith went over, daily,
to direct the ordering of things there.

" Faith ! " said Miss Henderson, on the Wednesday
ivening when they were to look confidently for the return
of their travellers next day, "come here child I I have
something to say to you."

Faith was sitting alone there, with her aunt, in the
twilight.

" There 's one thing on my mind, that I ought to speak o£

298 FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD.

as things have turned out. When I thought, a few weeks
ago, that you were provided for, as far as outside havings go,
I made a will, one day. Look in that right hand uppei
bureau drawer, and you '11 find a key, with a brown ribbon
to it That '11 unlock a black box on the middle shelf of
the closet. Open it, and take out the paper that lies on the
top, and bring it to me."

Faith did all this, silently.

" Yes, this is it," said Miss Henderson, putting on her
glasses, which were lying on the counterpane, and unfolding
the single sheet, written out in her own round, upright, old-
fashioned hand. " It 's an old woman's whim ; but if you
don't like it, it shan't stand. Nobody knows of it, and
nobody '11 be disappointed. I had a longing to leave some
kind of a happy life behind me, if I could, in the Old
House. It's only an earthly clinging and hankering, may
be ; but I 'd somehow like to feel sure, being the last of the
line, that there 'd be time for my bones to crumble away
comfortably into dust, before the old timbers should come
down. 1 meant, once, you should have had it all ; but it
•seemed as if you wasn't going to need it, and as if there
tiras going to be other kind of work cut out for you to de.
And I 'm persuaded there is yet, somewhere. So I 've done
this ; and I want you to know it beforehand, in case any
thing goes wrong, — no, not that, but unexpectedly, — with
me."

She reached out the paper, and Faith took it from her
hand. It was not long in reading.

A light shone out of Faith's eyes, through the tears that
sprang to them, as she finished it, and gave it back.

"Aunt Faith!" she said, earnestly. "It is beautiful!
I am so glad ! But, auntie I You '11 get well, I know, anJ
begin it yourself! "

FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD. 2&0

•' No," said Miss Henderson, quietly. " I may get over
this, and I don't say I should n't be glad to. But I 'm an
old tree, and the axe is lying, ground, somewhere, that 's to
cut me down before very long. Old folks can't change their
ways, and begin new plans and doings. I 'm only thankful
that the Lord has sent me a thought that lightens all the
dread I 've had for years about leaving the old place ; and
that I can go, thinking maybe there '11 be His work doing in
it as long as it stands."

"I don't know," she resumed, after a pause, " how your
father's affairs are now. The likelihood is, if he has any
health, that he '11 go into some kind of a venture again be
fore very long. But I shall have a talk with him, and if
he is n't satisfied I '11 alter it so as to do something more
for you."

" Something more ! " said Faith. But you have done a
great deal, as it is ! I did n't say so, because I was thinking
so much of the other."

" It won't make an heiress of you," said Aunt Faith.
" But it '11 be better than nothing, if other means fall short.
And I don't feel, somehow, as if you need be a burden on
my mind. There 's a kind of a certainty borne in on me,
otherwise. I can't help thinking that what I 've done haa
been a leading. And if it has, it 's right. — Now put this
back, and tell Miss Sampson she may bring my gruel. '

CHAPTER XXXTT.
GLORY MCWHIRK'S INSPIRATION.

u No bird am I to ring in June,
And dare not ask an equal boon.
Good nests and berries red are Nature's
To give away to better creatures, —
And yet my days go on, go on."

Mas. BROWNING.

MR. and Mrs. Gartney arrived on Thursday.

Two weeks and three days they had been absent ; and in
that time how the busy sprites of change and circumstance
had been at work ! As if the scattered straws of events, that,
stretched out in slender winrows, might have reached across
a field of years, had been raked together, and rolled over,
— crowded close, and heaped, portentous, into these eighteen
days!

Letters had told them something; of the burned mill,
and Faith's fearful danger and escape ; of Aunt Hender
son's continued illness, and its present serious aspect ; and
with this last intelligence, which met them in New York but
two days since, Mrs. Gartney found her daughter's agitated
note of pained avowal, that she " had come, through all this,
to know herself better, and to feel sure that this marriage
ought not to be ; " that, in short, all was at length over be
tween her and Paul Kushlei^h.

FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD. 301

It was a meeting full of thought, — where much waited
for speech that letters could neither have conveyed nor sat
isfied, — when Faith and her father and mother exchanged
the kiss of love and welcome, once more, in the little home
at Cross Corners.

It was well that Mis' Battis had made waffles, and spread
a tempting summer tea with these and her nice, white bread,
and fruits and cream ; and wished, with such faint impatience
as her huge calm was capable of, that " they would jest set
right down, while things was good and hot ; " and that Hen-
die was full of his wonderful adventures by boat and train,
and through the wilds ; so that these first hours were gotten
over, and all a little used to the old feeling of being together
again, before there was opportunity for touching upon deeper
subjects.

It came at length, — the long evening talk, after Hendie
was in bed, and Mr. G-artney had been over to the old house,
and seen his aunt, and had come back, to find wife and
daughter sitting in the dim light beside the open door, drawn
close in love and confidence, and so glad and thankful to
have each other back once more !

First, — Aunt Faith ; and what was to be done, — what
might be hoped — what must be feared — for her. Then,
the terrible story of the fire ; and all about it, that could
only be got at by the hundred bits of question and answer,
and the turning over and over, and repetition, whereby we
do the best, — the feeble best, — we can, to satisfy great
askings and deep sympathies that never can be anyhow
made palpable in words.

And, last of all, — just with the good-night kiss, — Faith
and her mother had had it all before, in the first minutea
they were left alone together, — Mr. Gartney said to his
daughter, —

26

S02 FAITH G ART NET'S GIRLHOOD.

" You are quite certain, now, Faith?"

" Quite certain, father; " Faith answered, low, with down«
cast eyes, as she stood before him.

Her father laid his hand upon her head.

"You are a good girl; and I don't blame you; yet I
thought you would have been safe and happy, so."

" I am safe and happy here at home," said Faith.

" Home is in no hurry to spare you, my child."

And Faith felt taken back to daughterhood once more.

Margaret Eushleigh had been to see her, before this. It
was a painful visit, with the mingling of old love and new
restraint ; and the effort, on either side, to show that things,
except in the one particular, were stil^unchanged.

Faith felt how true it was that " nothing could go back,
precisely, to what it was before."

There was another visit, a day or two after the re-assem
bling of the family at Cross Corners. This was to say
farewell. New plans had been made. It would take some
time to restore the mills to working order, and Mr. Rush-
leigh had not quite resolved whether to sell them "out as
they were, or to retain the property. Mrs. Eushleigh
wished Margaret to join her at Newport, whither the Sara
toga party was to go within the coming week. Then there
was talk of another trip to Europe. Margaret had never
been abroad. It was very likely they would all go out in
October.

Paul's name was never mentioned.

Faith realized, painfully, how her little hand had been
upon the motive power of much that was all ended, now.

Two eminent medical men had been summoned from
Mishaumok, and had held consultation with Dr. Wasgatt
upon Miss Henderson's case. It had been decided to post

FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD. 303

X

pone the surgical operation for two or three weeks. Mean
while, she was simply to be kept comfortable and cheerful,
strengthened with fresh air, and nourishing food, and some
slight tonics.

Faith was at the old house, constantly. Her aunt craved
her presence, and drew her more and more to herself. The
strong love, kept down by a stiff, unbending manner, so, for
years, — resisting almost its own growth, — would no longer
be denied or concealed. Faith Gartney had nestled herself
into the very core of this true, upright heart, unpersuadable
by anything but clear judgment and inflexible conscience.

" I had a beautiful dream last night, Miss Faith," said
Glory, one morning, when Faith came over and found the
busy handmaiden with her churn upon the door-stone,
" about Miss Henderson. I thought she was all well, and
strong, and she looked so young, and bright, and pleasant !
And she told me to make a May-day. And we had it out
here in the field. And everybody had a crown ; and every
body was queen. And the little children danced round the
old apple-tree, and climbed up, and rode horseback in the
branches. And Miss Henderson was out there, dressed in
white, and looking on. It don't seem so, — just to say it ;
but I could n't tell you how beautiful it was ! "

" Dreams are strange things," said Faith, thoughtfully.
" It seems as if they were sent to us, sometimes, — as if we
really had a sort of life in them."

"Don't they?" cried Glory, eagerly. "Why, Miss
Faith, I 've dreamed on, and on, sometimes, a whole story
out ! And, after all, we 're asleep almost as much as we 're
awake. Why is n't it just as real ? "

" I had a dream that night of the fire, Glory. I never
shall forget it. I went to sleep there, on the sofa. And it

304 FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD.

seemed as if I were on the top of a high, steep cliff, with no
way to get down. And all at once, there was fire behind
me, — a burning mountain ! And it came nearer, and
nearer, till it scorched my very feet ; and there was no way
down. And then, — it was so strange! — I knew Mr.
Armstrong was coming. And two hands took me, — just
as his did, afterward, — and I felt so safe ! And then I
woko, and it all happened. When he came, I felt as if I
had called him."

The dasher of the churn was still, and Glory stood,
breathless, in a white excitement, gazing into Faith's eyes.

" And so you did, Miss Faith ! Somehow, — through
the dream-land, — you certainly did ! "

Faith went in to her aunt, and Glory churned and pon
dered.

Were these two to go on, dreaming, and calling to each
other " through the dream-land," and never, in the day
light, and their waking hours, speak out ?

This thought, in vague shape, turned itself, restlessly, it
Glory's brain.

Other brains revolved a like thought, also.

" Somebody talked about a 'ripe pear,' once. I wonde«
if that one is n't ever going to fall ! "

Nurse Sampson wondered thus, as she settled Miss Hen
derson in her arm-chair before the window, and they sa*
Roger Armstrong and Faith Gartney walk up the fiel<i
together in the sunset light.

" I suppose it would n't take much of a jog to do it. But,
majbe, it's as well to leave it to the Lord's sunshine. He '11
ripen it, if He sees fit."

" It 's a pretty picture, anyhow. There 's the new moon
exactly over their right shoulders, if they 'd only tun. ii*ch

FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD, 305

heads to look at it. I don't think much of signs ; but,
somehow, I always do like. to have that one come right! "

" Well, it 's there, whether they 've found it out, or not,"
replied Aunt Faith.

Glory sat on the flat door-stone. She had the invariable
afternoon knitting- work in her hand ; but hand and work
had fallen to her lap, and her eyes were away upon the
glittering, faint crescent of the moon, that pierced the
golden mist of sunset. Close by, the evening star had filled
his chalice of silver splendor.

" The star and the moon only see each other. I can see
both. It is better."

She had come to the feeling of Eoger Armstrong's ser
mon. To receive consciously, as she had through her
whole life intuitively and unwittingly, all beauty of all
being about her into the secret beauty of her own. She
could be glad with the gladness of the whole world.

The two came up, and Glory rose, and stood aside.

" You have had thoughts, to-night, Glory," said the min
ister. " Where have they been ? "

" Away, there," answered Glory, pointing to the western
sky.

They .turned, and followed her gesture ; and from up
there, at their right, beyond, came down the traditional
promise of the beautiful young moon.

Glory had shown it them.

"And I've been thinking, besides," said Glory, "about
that dream of yours, Miss Faith. I 've thought of it all
day. Please tell it to Mr. Armstrong ? "

And Glory disappeared down the long passage to the
kitchen, and left them standing there, together. She went

straight to the tin-baker before the fire, and lifted the

26*

506 FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD.

cover, to seef if her biscuits were ready for tea. Then she
seated herself upon a little bench that stood against the
chimney-side, and leaned her head against the bricks, and
looked down into the glowing coals.

"It was put into my head to do it!" she said, breath
lessly, to herself. " I hope it was n't ridiculous ! "

So she sat, and gazed on, into the coals. They were out
there in the sunset, with the new moon and the bright star
above them in the saffron depths.

They stood alone, except for each other, in this still,
radiant beauty of all things.

Miss Henderson's window was around a projection of the
rambling, irregular structure, which made the angle wherein
the pleasant old door-stone lay.

" May I have your dream, Miss Faith ? "

She need not be afraid to tell a simple dream. Any
more, at this moment, than when she told it to Glory, that
morning, on that very spot. Why did she feel, that if she
should speak a syllable of it now, the truth that lay behind
it. would look out, resistless, through its veil ? That she
could not so keep down its spirit-meaning, that it should
not flash, electric, from her soul to his ?

" It was only — that night," she said, tremulously. " It
seemed very strange. Before the fire, I had the dream. It
was a dream of fire and danger, — danger that I could not
escape from. And I held out my hands, — and I found you
there, — and you saved me. Oh, Mr. Armstrong! As you
did save me, afterward 1 "

Eoger Armstrong turned, and faced her. His deep, ear
nest eyes, lit with a new, strange radiance, smote upon hers,
and held them spell-bound with their glance.

"I, too. dreamed that night," — said he, — "of an un-

FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD. 307

known peril to you. You beckoned me. I sprang from
out that dream, and rushed into the night, — until I found
you ! "

Their two souls met, in that brief recital, and knew that
they had met before. That, through the dream-land, there
had been that call and answer.

I'aith neither spoke, nor stirred, nor trembled. Thia
supreme moment of her life held her unmoved in its own
mightiness.

.Roger Armstrong held out both his hands.

" Faith ! In the sight of God, I believe you belong to
me!"

At that solemn word, of force beyond all claim of a mere
mortal love, Faith stretched her hands in answer, and laid
them into his, and bowed her head above them.

" In the sight of God, I belong to you ! "

So she gave herself. So she was taken. As God's gift,
to the heart that had been earthly desolate so long.
» There was no dread, no shrinking, in that moment. A
perfect love cast out all fear.

And the new moon and the evening star shone
together in an absolute peace.

CHAPTER XXXIU.

LAST HOUKS.

In this dim world of clouding cares
We rarely know, till 'wildered eyea
See white wings lessening up the skies,

The angels with us unawares.

Strange glory streams through life's wild rente,

And through the open door of death

We see the heaven that beckoneth
To the beloved going hence."

GERALD MASSET.

" READ me the twenty-third Psalm," said Miss Henderson.

It was the evening before the day fixed upon by hei
physicians for the surgical operation she had decided to
submit to.

Faith was in her place by the bedside, her hand resting
in that of her aunt. Mr. Armstrong sat near, — an open
Bible before him. Miss Sampson had gone down the field
for a " snatch of air."

Clear upon the stillness fell the sacred words of cheer.
There was a strong, sure gladness in the tone that uttered
them, that told they were born anew, in the breathing, from
a heart that had proved the goodness and mercy of the Lord.

In a solemn gladness, also, two other hearts received
them, and said, silently, Amen !

" Now the fourteenth of St. John."

FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD. 309

" 'In my father's house are many mansions.' 'I. will
dwell in the house of the Lord, forever.' Yes. It holds us
all. Under one roof. One family, — whatever happens!
Now, put away the book, and come here ; you two ! "

It was done ; and Roger Armstrong and Faith Gartney
stood up, side by side, before her.

" I haven't said so before, because I would n't set people
troubling beforehand. But in my own mind, I 'm pretty
sure of what 's coming. And if I had n't felt so all along,
I should now. When the Lord gives us our last eurthly
wish, and the kind of peace comes over that seems as if it
could n't be disturbed by anything, any more, we may know,
by the hush of it, that the day is done. I 'm going to bid
you good-night, Faith, and send you home. Say your
prayers, and thank God, for yourself and for me. Whatever
you hear of me, to-morrow, take it for good news ; for it will
be good. — Eoger Armstrong ! Take care of the child ! —
Child ! love your husband ; and trust in him ; for you may! "

Close, close, — bent Faith above her aunt, and gave and
took that solemn good-night kiss.

" ' The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, and the love of
God, and the communion of the Holy Ghost, be with us all.
Amen ! ' "

With the word of benediction, Roger Armstrong turned
frem the bedside, and led Faith away.

And the deeper shadows of night fell, and enfolded the
Old House, and the hours wore on, and all was still. Stillest,
calmest of all, in the soul of her who had dwelt there for
nearly threescore years and ten, and who knew, none the
less, that it would be surely home to her wheresoever her
place might be given her next, in that wide and beautiful
" House of the Lord 1 "

J10 FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD.

It was a strange day that succeeded ; when they sat,
waiting so, through those morning hours, keeping such Sab
bath as hoart and life do keep, and are keeping, somewhere,
fclways, in whatever busy work-day of the world, when great
issues come to solemnize the time.

Almo&t aa still at the Old House as at Cross Corners.
No huriy No bustle. Glory quietly doing her needful du
ties, ana obeying all direction of the nurse. Mr. Armstrong
in his o\vn loom, in readiness always, for any act or errand
chat might be required of him. Henderson Gartney alone
^n that aucient parlor at the front. The three physicians,
and M iss Sampson shut with Aunt Faith into her room. A
loint, breathless odor of ether creeping everywhere, even out
into the summer air.

It w-»s eleven o'clock, when a word was spoken to Koger
Armstrong, and he took his hat and walked across the field.
Faitb. with pale, asking face, met him at the door.

" Well, — thus far ; " was the message ; and a kiss fell
upon the uplifted forehead, and a look of boundless love and
sympathy into the fair, anxious eyes. " All has been done ;
aini she is comfortable. There may still be danger ; but
the *orst is past "

I hen a brazen veil fell from before the face of day. The
euushine looked golden again, and the song of birds rang
out, unmuffled. The strange, Sabbath stillness might be
broken. They could speak common words, once more.

Faith and her mother sat there, in the hill-side parlor,
talking thankfully, and happily, with Eoger Armstrong. So
a half-hour passed by. Mr. Gartney would come, with
further tidings, when he had been able to speak with the
physicians.

The shadows of shrub and tree crept and shortened to

FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD. 311

the lines of noon, and still, 'no word. They began to
wonder, why.

Mr. Armstrong would go back. He might be wanted,
somehow. They should hear again, immediately, unless he
were detained.

He was not detained. They watched him up the field,
and into the angle of the door-way. He was hidden there
a moment, but not more. Then they saw him turn, as one
lingering and reluctant, and retrace his steps toward them.

" Faith ! Stay here, darling! Let me meet him first,"
said Mrs. Gartney.

Faith shrank back, fearful of she knew not what, into
the room they had just quitted.

A sudden, panic dread and terror seized her. She felt
her hearing sharpen ;d, strained, involuntarily. She should
catch that first word, however it might be spoken. She
dared not hear it, yet. Out at the hill-side door, into the
shade of the deep evergreens, she passed, with a quick im
pulse.

Thither Eoger Armstrong followed, presently, and found
her. With the keen instinct of a loving sympathy, he knew
she fled from speech. So he put his arm about her, silently,
tenderly; and led her on, and up, under the close, coo]
Bhade, the way their steps had come to know so well.

" Take it for good news, darling. For it is good," he
Baid, at last, when he had placed her in the rocky seat, where
she had listened to so many treasured words, — to that old,
holy confidence, — of his.

And there he comforted her.

A sudden sinking, — a prostration beyond what they had
looked for, had surprised her attendants; and, almost with

S12 FAITH GAKTNEY'S GIRLHOOD.

their notice of the change, the last, pale, gray shadow had
swept up over the calm, patient face, and good Aunt Faith
had passed away.

Away, — for a little. Not out of God's house. Not lost
out of His household.

This was her will.

" I, Faith Henderson, spinster, in sound mind, and of my own
will, direct these things.

" That to my dear grandniece, Faith Henderson Gartney, be
given from me, as my bequest, that portion of my "worldly prop
erty now invested in two stores in D Street, in the city of

Mishaumok. That this property and interest be hers, for her own
use and disposal, with my love.

"Also, that my plate, and my box of best house linen, which
stands beside the press in the northwest chamber, be given to
her, Faith Henderson Gartney ; and that my nephew, Henderson
Gartney, shall, according to his own pleasure and judgment, ap
propriate and dispose of any books, or articles of old family value
and interest. But that beds, bedding, and all heavy household
furniture, with a proper number of chairs and other movables,
be retained in the house, for its necessary and suitable furnishing.

"And then, that all this residue of personal effects, and my
real estate in the Old Homestead at Kinnicutt Cross Corners, and
my shares in the Kinnicutt Bank, be placed in the hands of my
nephew, Henderson Gartney, to be held in trust during the natural
life of my worthy and beloved handmaiden, Gloriana McWhirk ;
for her to occupy said house, and use said furniture, and the in
come of said property, so long as she can find at least four orphan
children to maintain therewith, and " make a good time for, every
day."

Provided, that in case the said Gloriana McWhirk shall marry
or shall no longer so employ this property, or in case that she
shall die, said property is to revert to my above-named grand
oiece, Faith Henderson Gartney, for her and her heirs, to their
use and behoof forever.

FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD. 313

" And if there be any failure of a legal binding in this pape*
that I write, I charge it upon my nephew, Henderson Gartney,
on his conscience, as I believe him to be a true and honest man,
to see that these my effects are so disposed of, according to mj
plain will and intention,

(Signed) FAITH HENDERSON.

(Witnessed)

ROGER ARMSTRONG,

HIRAM WASGATT.

LTJTHEE GOODEIA.'

CHAPTER XXXIY

MBS. PARLEY GIMP

" The best laid schemes o' mice an' men
Gang aft agley."

BUBNS.

KISNICUTT had got nn enormous deal to talk about The
excitement of the great fire, and the curiosity and astonish
ment concerning Miss Gartney's share in the events of that
memorable night had hardly passed into the quietude of
things discussed to death and laid away, unwillingly, in
their graves, when all this that had happened at Cross
Corners poured itself, in a flood of wonder, upon the little
community.

Not all, quite, at once, however. Faith's engagement
was not, at first, spoken of publicly. There was no need,
in this moment of their common sorrow, to give their names
to the little world about them, for such handling as it might
please. Yet the little world found plenty to say, and a
great many plans to make for them none the less.

Miss Henderson's so long unsuspected, and apparently
brief illness, her sudden death, and the very singular will
whose provisions had somehow leaked out, as matters of the
wit always do, made a stir and ferment in the place, and
everybody felt bound to arrive at some satisfactory conclu
sion which should account for all, and to get a clear idea of

FAITH GARTNET'S GIRLHOOD. 315

what everybody immediately concerned would do, or ought,
in the circumstances, to do next, before they, — the first
everybodies, — could eat and sleep, and go comfortably
about their own business again, in the ordinary way.

They should think Mr. Gartney would dispute the will.
It could n't be a very hard matter, most likely, to set it
aside. All that farm, and the Old Homestead, and hei
money in the bank, going to that Glory McWhirk ! Why,
it was just ridiculous. The old lady must have been losing
her faculties. One thing was certain, any way. The min
ister was out of a boarding-place again. So that question
came up, in all its intricate bearings, once more.

This time Mrs. Gimp struck, while, as she thought, the
iron was hot.

Mr. Parley Gimp met Mr. Armstrong, one morning, in
the village street, and waylaid him to say that " his good
lady thought she could make room for him in their family, if
it was so that he should be looking out for a place to stay at."

Mr. Armstrong thanked him ; but, for the present, he was
to remain at Cross Corners.

•'At the Old House?"

" No, sir. At Mr. Gartney' s."

The iron was cold, after all.

Mrs. Parley Gimp called, one day, a week or two later,
when the minister was out. A visit of sympathetic scrutiny.

" Yes, it was a great loss, certainly. But then, at her
age, you know, ma'am ! We must all expect these things.
It was awfully sudden, to be sure. Must have been a ter
rible shock. Was her mind quite clear at the last ma'am ? "

" Perfectly. Clear, and culm, and happy, through it all."

" That's very pleasant to think of now, I' m sure. But
I hear she 's made a very extraordinary arrangement about

316 FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD.

the property. You can't tell, though, to be sure, about all
you hear, now-a-days."

" No, Mrs. Gimp. That is very true," said Mrs. Gart-
ney.

" Everybody always expected that it would all come to
you. At least, to your daughter. She seemed to make so
much of her."

" My daughter is quite satisfied, and we for her."

" Well, I must say ! — and so, Mr. Armstrong is to board
here, now ? A little out of the way of most of the parish,
is n't it ? I never could see, exactly, what put it into his
head to come so far. Not but what he makes out to do his
Juty as a pastor, pretty prompt, too. I don't hear any
complaints. He 's rather off and on about settling, though.
E guess he 's a man that keeps his intentions pretty close
to himself, — and all his affairs, for that matter. Of course
he 's a perfect right to. But I will say I like to know all
about folks from the beginning. It aggravates me to have
to begin in the middle. I tell Serena, it 's just like reading
a book when the first volume 's lost I don't suppose I 'm
much more curious than other people ; but I should like to
know just how old he is, for one thing ; and who his father
and mother were ; and where he came from in the first
place, and what he lives on ; for 't aint our salary, I know
that ; he 's given away more 'n half of it a' ready, — right
here in the village. I 've said to my husband, forty times,
if I 've said it once, ' I declare, I 've a great mind to ask
him myself, straight out, just to see what he'll say.' "

" And why not?" asked a voice, pleasantly, behind her.

Mr. Armstrong had come in, unheard by the lady in her
awn rush of words, and had approached too near, as thi»
suddenly ceased, to be able to escape again unnoticed.

FAITH GARTNEY 'S GIRLHOOD. 317

Mis' Battis told Luther Goodell afterward, that she "jest
looked in from the next room, at that, and if ever a woman
felt cheap, — all over, — and as if she had n't a right to her
own toes and fingers, and as if every thread and stitch on
her turned mean, all at once, — it was Mrs. Gimp, that
minit!"

" Has Faith returned ? " Mr. Armstrong asked, of Mrs,
Gartney, after a little pause in which Mrs. Gimp showed
no disposition to develop into deed her forty times declared
" great mind."

" I think not. She said she would remain an hour or two
with Glory, and help her to arrange those matters she came
in, this morning, to ask us about."

" I will walk over."

And the minister took his hat again, and with a bow to
the two ladies, passed out, and across the lane.

" Faith! " ejaculated the village matron, her courage
and her mind to meddle returning. "Well, that's inti
mate ! "

It might as well be done now, as at any time. Mr. Arm
strong, himself, had heedlessly precipitated the occasion.
It had only been, among them, a question of how and when.
There was nothing to conceal.

" Yes," replied Mrs. Gartney, quietly. " They will be
married by-and-by."

"Did she go out the door, ma'am? Or has she melted
down into the carpet? 'Cause, I have heerd of people
sinkin' right through the floor," said Mis' Battis, who "jest
looked in " a second time, as the bewildered visitor receded.

The pleasant autumn months, mellowing and brightening
all things, seemed also to soften and gild their memoriea

27*

318 FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD.

of the life that had ended, ripely and beautifully, among
them.

Glory, after the first overwhelm of astonishment at what
had befallen her, — made fully to understand that which
Bhe had a right, and was in duty bound to do, — entered
upon the preparations for her work with the same unaffect
ed readiness with which she would have done the bidding
of her living mistress. It was so evident that her true
humbleness was untouched by alL "It's beautiful! " and
the tears and smiles would come together as she said it.
"But then, Miss Faith — Mr. Armstrong ! I never can do
any of it unless you help me ! "

Faith and Mr. Armstrong did help with heart and hand,
and every word of counsel that she needed.

" I must buy some cotton and calico, and make some
little clothes and tyers. Had n't I better ? When they
come, I '11 have them to take care of."

And with the loving anticipation of a mother, she made
up, and laid away, Faith helping her in all, her store of
small apparel for little ones that were to come.

She had gone down, one day, to Mishaumok, and found
out Bridget Foye, at the old number in High Street. And
to her she had entrusted the care of looking up the children,
— to be not less than five, and not more than eight or nine
years of age, — who should be taken to live with her at " Miss
Henderson's home," and " have a good time every day."

" I must get them here before Christmas," said Glory to
her friends. " We must hang their stockings all up by the
great kitchen chimney, and put sugar-plums and picture
books in ! "

She was going back eagerly into her child-life, — rather
into the life her childhood wist of, but missed, — and would

FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD. 319

live it all over, now, with these little ones, taken already,
before even they were seen or found, out of their stranger-
hood into her great, kindly heart !

A plain, capable, motherly woman had been obtained, by
Mr. Armstrong's efforts and inquiry, who would live with
Glory as companion and assistant. There was the dairy-
work to be carried on, still. This, and the hay-crops, made
the principal income of the Old Farm. A few fields were
rented for cultivation.

" Just think," cried Glory when the future management
of these matters was talked of, " what it will be to see the
little things let out a rolling in the new hay ! "

Her thought passed so entirely over herself, as holder and
arbiter of means, to the good, — the daily little joy, — that
was to come, thereby, to others!

"When all was counted and calculated, they told her that
she might safely venture to receive, in the end, six children.
But that, for the present, four would perhaps be as many as
it would be wise for her to undertake.

"You know best," she said, "and I shall do whatever
you say. But I don't feel afraid, — any more, that is, for
taking six than four. I shall just do for them all the time,
whether or no."

" And what if they are bad and troublesome, Glory? "

"Oh, they won't be," she replied. "I shall love them
•0!"

CHAPTER XXXV.

INDIAN SUMMER.

Tto as If the benignant Hearen
Had a new revelation given,

And written it out with gems ;

For the golden tops of the elms
And the burnished bronze of the ash
And the scarlet lights that flash
From the sumach's points of flame,

Like blazonings on a scroll
Spell forth an illumined Name

For the reading of the soul !

IT is of no use to dispute about the Indian Summer. I
never found two people who could agree as to the time when
it ought to be here, or upon a month and day when it should
be decidedly too late to look for it. It keeps coming. After
the Equinoctial, which begins to be talked about with the
first rains of September, and is n't done with till the Sun
has measured half-a-dozen degrees of south declination, all
the pleasant weather is Indian Summer, — away on to Christ
mas-tide. For my part, I think we get it now and then,
little by little, as " the kingdom " comes. That every soft
warm, mellow, hazy, golden day, like each fair, fragrant
life, is a part and outcrop of it ; though weeks of gale and
frost, or ages of cruel worldliness and miserable sin may lie
between.

It was an Indian Summer day, then ; and it was in Oc
tober.

FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD. 321

Faith and Mr. Armstrong walked over the brook, and
round by Pasture Eocks, to the "little chapel," as Faith
had called it, since the time, last winter, when she and
Glory had met the minister there, in the still, wonderful,
pure beauty that enshrined it on that " diamond morning."

The elms that stood then, in their icy sheen, about the
meadows, like great cataracts of light, were soft with amber
drapery, now ; translucent in each leaf with the detained
sunshine of the summer ; and along the borders of the wood-
walk, scarlet flames of sumach sprang out, vivid, from among
the lingering green ; and birches trembled with their golden
plumes ; and bronzed ash boughs, and deep crimsons and
maroons and chocolate-browns and carbuncle red that crown
ed the oaks with richer and intenser hues, made up a wealth
and massiveness of beauty wherein eye and thought revelled
and were sated.

Over and about all, the glorious October light, and the
dreamy warmth that was like a palpable love.

They stood on the crisp moss carpet of the " half-way
rock," — the altar-crag behind them, with its cherubim that
waved illumined wings of tenderer radiance now, — and
gazed over the broad outspread of marvellous color ; and
thought of the summer that had come and gone since they
had stood there, last, together, and of the beauty that had
breathed alike on earth and into life, for them.

" Faith, darling ! Tell me your thought," said Eoger
Armstrong.

" This was my thought," Faith answered, slowly. " That
first sermon you preached to us, — that gave me such a
hope, then, — that comes up to me so, almost as a warn
ing, now ! The poor, — that were to have the kingdom 1
And then, those other words, — ' how hardly shall they

322 FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD.

who have riches enter in ! ' And I am so rich ! It fright
ens me."

" Entire happiness does make one tremble. Only, if wa
feel God in it, and stand but the more ready for His work,
we may be safe."

" His work — yes," Faith answered. " But now he only
gives me rest It seems as if, somehow, I were not worthy
of a hard life. As if all things had been made too easy for
me. And I had thought, so, of some great and difficult
thing to do."

Then Faith told him of the oracle that, years ago, had
first wakened her to the thought of what life might be ; of
the "high and holy work" that she had dreamed of; and
of her struggles to fulfil it, feebly, in the only ways that as
yet had opened for her.

"And now — just to receive all, — love, and help, and
care, — and to rest, and to be so wholly happy ! "

" Believe, darling, that we are led, through all. That
the oil of joy is but as an anointing for a nobler work. It
is only so I dare to think of it We shall have plenty to
do, Faithie ! And, perhaps, to bear. It will all be set
before us, in good time."

"But nothing can be hard to do, any more. That is what
makes me almost feel unworthy. Look at Nurse Sampson.
Look at Glory. They have only their work, and the love
of God to help them in it And I — ! Oh, I am not poor
any longer. The words don't seem to be for me."

" Let us take them with their double-edge of truth.
then. Holding ourselves always poor, in sight of the infinite
Bpiritual riches of the kingdom. Blessed are the poor, who
can feel, even in the keenest earthly joy, how there is a
fulness of life laid up in Him who gives it, of whose depth

FAITR GARTNET'S GIRLHOOD. 323

the best gladness here is but a glimpse and foretaste ! "W>
will not be selfishly or unworthily content, God helping us
my little one ! "

" It is so hard not to be content ! " whispered Faith, as th«
strong, manly arm held her, in its shelter, close beside thr
noble, earnest heart.

" I think," said Koger Armstrong, afterward, as the}
walked down over the fragrant pathway of fallen pine leaves
" that I have never known an instance of one more evidentlj
called, commissioned, and prepared for a good work in the
world, than Glory. Her whole life has been her education
for it. It is not without a purpose, when a soul like hers ia
left to struggle up through such externals of circumstance.
We can love and help her in it, Faith ; and do something,
in our way, for her, as she will do, in hers, for others."

" Oh, yes ! " assented Faith, impulsively. " I have wish
ed " but there she stopped.

"Am I to hear no more?" asked Mr. Armstrong, pres
ently. " Have I not a right to insist upon the wish? "

" I forgot what I was coming to," said Faith, blushing
deeply. " I spoke of it, one day, to mother. And she said
it was a thing I couldn't decide for myself, now. That
some one else would be concerned, as well as I."

" And some one else will be sure to wish as you do. Only
there may be a wisdom in waiting. Faithie, — I have never
told you yet, — will you be frightened if I tell you now, —
that I am not a poor man, as the world counts poverty ?
My friend, of whom you know, in those terrible days of the
commencing pestilence, having only his daughter and myseft
to care for, made his will ; in provision against whatever
might befall them there. By that will, — through the fear
ful sorrow that made it effective, — I came into possession

S24 FAITH GAXTNEY'S GIRLHOOD.

of a large property. Your little inheritance, Faithie, goes
into your own little purse for private expenditures or chari
ties. But for the present, as it seems to me, Glory has
ample means for all that it is well for her to undertake.
By-and-by, as she gains in years and in experience, you will
have it in your power to enlarge her field of good. ' Miss
Henderson's Home ' may grow into a wider benefit than even
ehe, herself, foresaw."

Faith was not frightened. These were not the riches that
could make her tremble with a dread lest earth should too
fully satisfy. This was only a promise of new power to
work with ; a guaranty that God was not leaving her merely
to oare for and to rest in a good that must needs be all her
own.

" We shall find plenty to do, Faithie ! " Mr. Armstrong
repeated ; and he held her hand in his with a strong pres
sure that told how the thought of that work to come, and
her sweet and entire association in it, leaped along his pulses
with a living joy.

Faith caught it ; and all fear was gone. She could not
shrink from the great blessedness that was laid upon her,
any more than Nature could refuse to wear her coronation
robes, that trailed their radiance in this path they trod.

Life held them in a divine harmony.

The October sun, that mantled them with warmth and
glory; the Indian Summer, that transfigured earth about
them; all tints, — all redolence, — all broad beatitude of
globe and sky, — were none too much to breathe out and
make palpable the glad and holy auspice of the hour.

Mr. Gartney had gradually relinquished his half-formed
thought of San Francisco. Already the unsettled and threat

FAITH GARTNEY' S GIRLHOOD. 325

emng condition of affairs in the country had begun to make
men feel that the time was not one for new schemes or ad
venturous changes. Somehow, the great wheels, mercantile
and political, had slipped out of their old grooves, and went
laboring, as it were, roughly and at random, with fierce
clattering and jolting, quite off the ordinary track ; so that
none could say whether they should finally regain it, and
roll smoothly forward, as in the prosperous and peaceful
days of the past, or should bear suddenly and irretrievably
down to some horrible, unknown crash and ruin.

Henderson Gartney, however was too restless a man to
wait, with entire passiveness, the possible turn and issue of
things.

Quite strong, again, in health, — so great a part of his
burden and anxiety lifted from him in the marriages, actual
and prospective, of his two daughters, — and his means
augmented by the sale of a portion of his western property
which he had effected during his summer visit thereto, — it
was little to be looked for that he should consent to vegetate,
idly and quietly, through a second winter at Cross Corners.

The first feeling of some men, apparently, when they have
succeeded in shuffling off a load of difficulty, is a sensation
of the delightful ease with which they can immediately
shoulder another. As when one has just cleared a desk or
drawer of rubbish, there is such a tempting opportunity
made for beginning to stow away and accumulate again.
Well ! the principle is an eternal one. Nature does abhoi
a vacuum.

The greater portion of the ensuing months, therefore,
Mr. Gartney spent in New York ; whither his wife and chil
dren accompanied him, also, for a stay of a few weeks ; dur
ing which. Faith and her mother accomplished the inevita

28

326 FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD.

ble shopping that a coming wedding necessitates ; and set
in train of preparation certain matters beyond the range of
Kinnicutt capacity and resource.

Mr. Armstrong, too, was obliged to be absent from hia
parish for a little time. Affairs of his own required some
personal attention. He chose these weeks while the others,
also, were away.

,It was decided that the marriage should take place in the
coming spring ; and that then the house at Cross Corners
should become the home of Mr. Armstrong and Faith ; and
that Mr. Gartney should remove, permanently, to New
York, where he had already engaged in some incidental and
preliminary business transactions. His purpose was to fix
himself there, as a shipping and commission merchant, con
cerning himself, for a large proportion, with California trade.

The house in Mishaumok had been rented for a term of
five years. One change prepares the way for another.
Things never go back precisely to what they were before.

Mr. Armstrong, after serious thought, had come to this
conclusion of accepting the invitation of the Old Parish at
Kinnicutt to remain with it as its pastor, because the place
itself had become endeared to him for its associations ; be
cause, also, it was Faith's home, which she had learned to
love and cling to ; because she, too, had a work here, in
assisting Glory to fulfil the terms of her aunt's bequest ;
and because, country parish though it was, and a limited
sphere, as it might seem, for his means and talents, he saw
the way here, not only to accomplish much direct good in
the way of his profession, but as well for a wider exercise of
power through the channel of authorship ; for which a more
onerous pastoral charge would not have left him the need«
ful quiet or leisure.

FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD. 327

So, with these comings and goings, these happy plans,
and helpings and on-lookings, the late autumn weeks merged
in winter, and days slipped almost imperceptibly by, and "
Christmas came.

Three little orphan girls had been welcomed into " Misa
Henderson's Home." And only one of them had hair that
would curl. Eut Glory gave the other two an extra
each, every morning

CHAPTER XXXV .

CHRISTMAS-TIDE.

** Through suffering and through sorrow thou hart past
To show us what a woman true may be ;
They have not taken sympathy from thee,
Nor made thee any other than thou wast ;

Nor hath thy knowledge of adversity
Robbed thee of any faith in happiness,
But rather cleared thine inner eye to see
How many simple ways there are to bless."

LOWELL.

" And if any painter drew her,
He would paint her unaware,
With a halo round the hair."

MBS. BEOWNIUO.

THERE were dark portents abroad. Rumors, ant* wweata,
and prognostications of fear and strife teemed in the columns
of each day's sheet of news, and pulsed wildly along the
electric nerves of the land ; and men looked out, as into a
coming tempest, that blackened all the southerly sky with
wrath ; and only that the horror was too great to be believed
in, they could not have eaten and drunken, and bought and
sold, and planted and builded, as they did, after the age-old
manner of man, in these days before the flood that was to come.

Civil war, like a vulture of hell, was swooping down from
the foul fastness of iniquity that had hatched her in its

FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD. 329

high places, and that reared iteelf, audaciously, in the very
face of Heaven.

And a voice, as of a mighty angel, sounded "Wo' wo!
wo ! to the inhabiters of earth ! "

And still men but half heard and comprehended ; and
still they slept and rose, and wrought on, each in his own
work, and planned for the morrow, and for the days that
were to be.

And in the midst of all, came the blessed Christmas tide.
Yes ! even into this world that has rolled its seething bur
den of sin and pain and shame and conflict along the listen
ing depths through waiting cycles of God's eternity, was
Christ once born !

And little children, of whom is the kingdom, in their
simple faith and holy unconsciousness, were looking for the
Christmas good, and wondering only what the coming joy
should be.

The shops and streets of Mishaumok were filled with
busy throngs. People forgot, for a day, the fissure that had
just opened, away there in the far South-land, and the
fierce flames that shot up, threatening, from the abyss.
What mattered the mass meetings, and the shouts, and the
guns, along those shores of the Mexican Gulf? To-night
would be Christmas Eve ; and there were thousands of little
stockings waiting to be hung by happy firesides, and they
must all be filled for the morrow.

So the shops and streets were crowded, and people with
arms full of holiday parcels jostled each other at every
corner. It was n't like the common days, when they passed
by, self-absorbed, unknowing and unheeding what might be
each other's object or errand. There was a common busi
ness to be done to-day. Everybody knew what everybody

28*

330 FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD.

else was after ; and the lady whose carriage waited at the
door, half filled with costly purchases, stood elbow to elbow
at the gay counter with one whose face was pale and wearied
with the many thoughts and steps it cost her to make the
three dollars in her pocket, which she dared not break till
ahe had quite settled what every cent should go for, buy
something for each one of five.

As the day wore on, the hurry and the crowd increased.
Grave, dignified mei might now and then be seen with queer
packages in their arms, held awkwardly ; for the errand-boy a
in the shops were overbusied and uncertain ; and some thinga
must be transported with especial care, and nothing, to-night,
must fail of its destination. Dolls' arms and legs betrayed
themselves through their long swathings, and here and there
the nose or tail of a painted horse had pricked its way out
of its paper wrapping ; coat pockets hung heavy with sweet
burdens; the neat, square parcels, fastened with colored
twine, told of booksellers' treasures ; all along the shifting
eea of faces you read one gleam of pleased anticipation ;
coins had melted into smiles ; the soul of Christmas was
abroad ; the " better to give than to receive" was the key
note of the kindly carnival.

There are odd encounters in this world-tumble that we
live in. In the early afternoon, at one of the bright show
cases, filled within and heaped without with toys, two women
met, — as strangers are always meeting, with involuntary
touch and glance, — borne together in a crowd, — atoma
impinging for an instant, never to approach again, perhaps,
in all the coming combinations of time.

These two women, though, had met before.

One, sharp, eager, — with a stylish-shabby air of dresa
•bout her, and the look of pretence that shopmen know, at

FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD. 331

and asked prices, where she had no actual
ot buying, — holding by the hand a child of six,
who dragged and teased, and got an occasional word that
crushed him into momentary silence, but who, tired with
the sights and the Christmas shopping, had nothing for it
but to begin to drag and tease again ; another, with bright,
hippy, earnest eyes and flushing checks, and hair rolled
back in a golaen wealth beneath her plain straw bonnet ;
bonnet, and dress, and all, of simple black ; these two came
face to face.

The shabby woman with the sharp look recognized noth
ing. Glory McWhirk knew Mrs. Grabbling, and the child
of six that had been the Grubbling baby.

All at once, she had him in her arms ; and as if not a
moment had gone by since she held him so in the little,
dark, upper entry in Budd Street, where he had toddled
to her in his night-gown, for her grieved farewell, was
hugging and kissing him, with the old, forgetting and
forgiving love.

Mrs. Grubbling looked on in petrified amaze. Glory had
transferred a fragrant white paper parcel from her pocket to
the child's hands, and had thrust upon that a gay tin horse
from the counter, before it occurred to her that the mother
might, possibly, neither remember nor approve.

" 1 beg your pardon, ma'am, for the liberty; and it 'svery
likely you don't know me. I 'm Glory McWhirk, that used
to live with you, and mind the baby."

And then she seized once more the big boy in whom the
baby of olden time was merged, and well-nigh lost, and who
had already plunged his fingers into the candies, and waa
satisfying himself as to the perfect propriety of all that had
occurred, by the sure recognition of peppermint-stick. —

332 FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD.

and had the hugs and kisses all over again, without ever
waiting for a word of license.

Mrs. Grabbling was not in the least offended. There was
an air of high respectability in the public avowal of this
very nice-looking young woman that she had once "lived
with her and tended baby." Also, in the fervor of attach
ment that evinced itself in these embraces. It spoke well,
surely, for the employer. There are those who can take a
credit to themselves, even from their • failure to thwart and
spoil a nobleness that has overlived their meanness. As
they might, in their Pharisaism, from the very sunlight of
God, whose spontaneous outflow no evil of man can quench
or turn aside. The earth rolls on, and is not yet consumed.
The blue sky is set safely above its smirch. No track of its
sin lies foul across the firmament. Therefore, impotent
sinners, rejoice in the day- shine, and think well of your
selves that heaven still smiles !

" I 'm sure I 'm glad to see you, Glory," said Mrs. Grub-
bling, patronizingly ; "and I hope you 've been doing well
since you went away from me." As if she had been doing
so especially well before, that there might easily be a doubt
as to whether going farther had not been faring worse. I
have no question that Mrs. Grubbling really fancied, at the
moment, that the foundation of all the simple content and
quiet prosperity that evidenced themselves at present in the
person of her former handmaid, had been laid in Budd Street

"And where are you living now?" proceeded she, as
Glory resigned the boy to his mint-stick, and was saying
good-bye.

" Out in Kinnicutt, ma'am ; at Miss Henderson's ; where
I have been ever since,"

She never thought of triumphing. She never dreamed

FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD. 333

of what it would be to electrify her former mistress with the
announcement that she whom she had since served had died,
and left her, Glory McWhirk, the life-use of more than half
her estate. That she dwelt now, as proprietress, where she
had been a servant. Her humbleness and her faithfulness
were so entire that she never thought of herself as occupying,
in the eyes of others, such position. She was Miss Hender
son's handmaiden, still ; doing her behest, simply, as if she
had but left her there in keeping, while she went a journey.

So she bade good-bye, and courtesied to Mrs. Grubbling,
and gathered up her little parcels, and went out. Fortu
nately. Mrs. Grubbling was half-stunned, as it was. It is
impossible to tell what might have resulted, had she then
and there been made cognizant of more. Not to the shorn
lamb, alone, always, are sharp winds beneficently tempered.
There is a mercy, also, to the miserable wolf.

Glory had one trouble, to-day, that hindered her pure,
free and utter enjoyment of what she had to do.

All day she had seen, here and there along the street,
little forlorn and ragged ones, straying about aimlessly, as
if by any chance, a scrap of Christmas cheer might even fall
to them, if only they kept out in the midst of it. There
was a distant wonder in their faces, as they met the buyers
among the shops, and glanced at the fair, fresh burden?
they carried ; and around the confectioners' windows they
would cluster, sometimes, two or three together, and look:
as if one sense could take in what was denied so to another.
She knew so well what the feeling of it was ! To see the
good times going on, and not be in 'em ! She longed so to
gather them all to herself, and take them home, and make a
Christmas for them !

She could only drop the pennies that came to her LJ

334 FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD.

change loose into her pocket, and give them, one by one,
along the wayside. And she more than once offered a bright
quarter, (it was in the days when quarters yet were, reader !)
when she might have counted out the sum in lesser bits,
that so the pocket should be kept supplied the longer.

Down by the — Eailway Station, the streets were dim,

and dirty, and cheerless. Inside, the passengers gathered
about the stove, where the red coals gleamed cheerful in the
already gathering dusk of the vinter afternoon. A New
York train was going out ; and all sorts of people, — from
the well-to-do, portly gentleman of business, with his good
coat buttoned comfortably to his chin, his tickets bought,
his wallet lined with bank-notes for his journey, and secretly
stowed beyond the reach (if there be such a thing) of pick
pockets, and the Mishaumok Journal, Evening Edition, damp
from the press, unfolded in his fingers, to the care-for- naught,
dare-devil little news-boy who had sold it to him, and who
now saunters off*, varying his monotonous cry with —

" Jour-nal, gentlemen ! Eve-nin' 'dition ! Georgy out 1 "
(" What's that?" exclaims an inconsiderate.)
" Georgy out ! (Little brother o' mine. Seen him any
where ?) Evc-nin' 'dition ! Jour-nal, gentlemen ! " and the
shivering little candy-girl, threading her way with a silent
imploringness among the throng, — were bustling up and
down, in waiting-rooms, and on the platforms, till one
would think, assuredly, that the centre of all the world's
activity, at this moment, lay here ; and that everybody not
going in this particular express train to New York, must be
utterly devoid of any aim or object in life, whatever.

So we do, always, carry our centre about with us. A
little while ago all the world was buying dolls and tin

GARTNET'S GIRLHOOD. 335

horses. Horizons shift and ring themselves about us, and
we, ourselves, stand always in the middle.

By-and-by, however, the last call was heard.

" Passengers for New York ! Train ready ! All aboard ! "

And with the ringing of the bell, and the mighty gasping
of the impatient engine, and a scuffle and scurry of a minute,
in which carpet-bags and babies were gathered up and
shouldered indiscriminately, the rooms and the platforms
were suddenly cleared of all but a few stragglers, and half
a dozen women with Christmas bundles, who sat waiting
for trains to way stations.

Two little pinched faces, purple with the bitter cold,
looked in at the door.

" It's good and warm in there. Less' go ! "

And the older drew the younger into the room, toward
the glowing stove.

They looked as if they had been wandering about in the
dreary streets till the chill had touched their very bones.
The larger of the two, a boy, — torn hopelessly as to his
trowsers, dilapidated to the last degree as to his fragment
of a hat, — knees and elbows making their way out into
the world with the faintest shadow of opposition, — had,
perhaps from this, a certain look of pushing knowingness
that set itself, by the obscure and inevitable law of compen
sation, over against the gigantic antagonism of things he
found himself born into ; and you knew, as you looked at
him, that he would, somehow, sooner or later, make his
small dint against the great dead wall of society that loomed
itself in his way ; whether society or he should get the worst
of it, might happen as it would.

The younger was a little girl. A flower thrown down iu
the dirt. A jewel encrusted with mean earth. Little feet

336 FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD.

in enormous coarse shoes, cracked and trodden down ; bare
arms trying to hide themselves under a bit of old woolen
shawl ; hair tangled beneath a squalid hood ; out amidst all,
a face of beauty that peeped, like an unconscious draft of
God's own signing, upon humanity. Was there none to
acknowledge it ?

An official came through the waiting-room.

The boy showed a slink in his eyes, like one used to
shoving and rebuff, and to getting off, round corners. The
girl stood, innocent and unheeding.

" There ! out with you ! No vagrums here ! "

Of course, they could n't have all Queer Street in their
waiting-rooms, these railway people ; and the man's words
were rougher than his voice. But these were two children,
who wanted cherishing 1

The slink in the boy's eye worked down, and became a
sneak and a shuffle, toward the door. The girl was follow
ing.

" Stop ! " called a woman's voice, sharp and authoritative.
" Don't you stir a single step either of you, till you get warm I
If there isn't any other way to fix it, I'll buy you both a
ticket somewhere and then you'll be passengers."

It was a tall, thin, hoopless woman, with a carpet-bag, a
plaid shawl, and an umbrella ; and a bonnet that, since other
bonnets had begun to poke, looked like a chaise top flat
tened back at the first spring. In a word, Mehitable
Sampson.

Something twitched at the corners of the man's mouth as
he glanced round at this sudden and singular champion.
Something may have twitched under his comfortable waist
coat, also. At any rate, he passed on ; and the children, —
tLe brief battledore over in which they had been the shuttle

FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD. 337

cocks, — crept back, compliant with the second order, much
amazed, toward the stove.

Miss Sampson began to interrogate.

"Why don't you take your little sister home ? "

" This one ain't iny sister." Children always set people
right before they answer queries.

"Well, — whoever she is, then. Why don't you both
go home ? "

"Cause its cold there, too. And we was sent to find
sticks."

" If she isn't your sister, who does she belong to? "

" She don't belong to nobody. She lived upstairs, and
her mother died, and she came down to us. But she's goin'
to be took away. Mother's got five of us, now. She's
goin' to the poor-house. She 's a regular little brick,
though ; aint yer, Jo ? "

The pretty, childish lips that had begun to grow red and
life-like again, parted, and showed little rows of milk-teeth,
like white shells. The blue eyes and the baby smile went
up, confidingly, to the young ragamuffin's face. There had
been kindness here. The boy had taken to Jo, it seemed ;
and was benevolently evincing it, in the best way he could,
by teaching her goodnatured slang.

" Yes ; I 'm a little brick," she lisped.

Miss Sampson's keen eyes went from one to the other,
resting last and long on Jo.

"I shouldn't wonder," she said, deliberately, "if you
was Number Four ! "

" Whereabouts do you live ? " suddenly, to the bqy.

" Three doors round the corner. 'Taint number four,
though. It's ninety- three. "

" What's your name ? " *»

29

338 FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD.

" Tim Kafferty."

" Tim Rafferty ! Did anybody ever trust you with a
carpet-bag ? "

" I've carried 'em up. But then they mostly goes along,
and looks sharp."

" Well, now I'm going to leave you here, with this one.
If anybody speaks to you, say you was left in charge.
Don't stir till I come back. And — look here ! if yau sec a
young woman come in, with bright, wavy hair, and a black
gown and bonnet, and if she comes and speaks to you, aa
most likely she will, tell her I said I shouldn't wonder if
this was Number Four ! "

And Nurse Sampson went out into the street.

When she came back, the children sat there, still; and
Glory McWhirk was with them.

" I don't know as I'd any business to meddle ; and I
have n't made any promises ; but I 've found out that you
can do as you choose about it, and welcome. And I could n't
help thinking you might like to have this one for Number
Four."

Glory had already nestled the poor, tattered child close
to her, and given her a cake to eat from the refreshment
counter.

Tim Rafferty delivered up the carpet-bag, in proud in
tegrity. To be sure, there were half a dozen people in the
loom who had witnessed its intrustment to his hands ; but
I think he would have waited there, all the same, had the
coast been clear.

Miss Sampson gave him ten cents, and recounted to Glory
what she had learned at number ninety-three.

" She's a strange child, left on their hands ; and they 're
aa poor as death. They were going to give her in charge

FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD. 339

to the authorities. The woman said she could n't feed hex
another day. That's about the whole of it. If Tim don't
bring her back, they'll know where she is, and be thankful."

" Do you want to go home with me, and hang up your
gt coking, and have a Christmas ? "

" My golly! " ejaculated Tim, staring.

The little one smiled shyly, and was mute. She didn't
know what Christmas was. She had been cold, and now
she was warm, and her mouth and hands were filled with
sweet cake. And there were pleasant words in her ears.
That was all she knew. As much as we shall comprehend
at first, perhaps, when the angels take us up out of the
earth-cold, and give us the first morsel of heavenly good to
stay our cravings.

This was how it ended. Tim had a paper bag of apples
and cakes, with some sugar pigs and pussy-cats put in at
the top, and a pair of warm stockings out of Glory's bag, to
carry home, for himself ; and he was to say that the lady
who came to see his mother had taken Jo away into the
country. To Miss Henderson's, at Kinnicutt. Glory wrote
these names upon a paper. Tim was to be a good boy, and
some day they would come and see him again.

Then Nurse Sampson's plaid shawl was wrapped about
little Jo, and pinned close over her rags to keep out the
cold of Christmas Eve ; and the bell rang presently ; and
she was taken out into the bright, warm car, and tucked up
in a corner, where she slept all the hour that they were
steaming over the road.

And so these three went out to Kinnicutt to keep Christ
mas at the Old House.

So Glory carried home the Christ-gift that had come
to her.

340 FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD.

Tim went back, alone, to number ninety-three. He had
his bag of good things, and his warm stockings, and hia
wonderful story to tell. And there was more supper and
breakfast for five than there would have been for six.
Nevertheless, somehow, he missed the " little brick"

Out at Cross Corners, Miss Henderson's Home was all
aglow. The long kitchen, which, by the outgrowth of the
house for generations, had come to be a central room, waa
flooded with the clear blaze of a great pine knot, that
crackled in the chimney ; and open doors showed neat ad
joining rooms, in and out which the gleams and shadows
played, making a suggestive pantomime of hide and seek.
It was a grand old place for Christmas games ! And three
little bright-faced girls sat round the knee of a tidy, cheery
old woman, who told them, in a quaint Irish brogue, the
story of the " little rid hin," that was caught by the fox,
and got away, again, safe, to her own little house in the
woods, where she "lived happy iver afther, an' got a fine
little brood of chickens to live wid her ; an' pit 'em all
intill warrum stockings and shoes, an' round-o caliker
gowns."

And they carped at no discrepancies or improbabilities ;
jut seized all eagerly, and fused it in their quick imagina
tions to one beautiful meaning ; which, whether it were of
chicken-comfort, overbrooded with warm love, or of a clothed,
contented childhood, in safe shelter, mattered not a bit.

Into this warm, blithe scene came Glory, ju.?t as the fable
was ended for the fourth time, bringing the last little chick,
flushed and rosy from a bath ; born into beauty, like Venua
from the sea ; her fair hair, combed and glossy, hanging
about her neck in curls; and wrapped, not in a " round-o-
caliker," but in a scarlet flannel night-gown, comfortable

842 FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD.

friends who bad helped and sympathized in all, and said,
with a quick overflow of feeling, that could find only the
old words wherein to utter herself, —

" Such a time as this! Such a beautiful time 1 And to
think that I should be in it ! "

Miss Henderson's will was fulfilled.

A happy, young life had gathered again about the ancient
hearthstone that had 'seen two hundred years of human
change.

The Old House, wherefrom the last of a long line had
passed on into the Everlasting Mansions, had become God's
heritage.

Nurse Sampson spent her Christmas with the Gartneys.

They must have her again, they told her, at parting, for
the wedding ; which would be in May.

" I may be a thousand miles off, by that time. But 1
shall think of you, all the same, wherever I am. My work
is coming. I feel it. There 'a a smell of blood and death
in the air ; and all the strong hearts and hands '11 be wanted
You '11 see it."

And with that, she was gone.

CHAPTER XXXVH.

THE "WEDDING JOURNEY.

«« The tree

Bucks kindlier nurture from a soil enriched
By its own fallen leaves ; and man is made,
In heart and spirit, from deciduous hopes
And things that seem to perish."

" A stream always among woods or in the sunshine is pleasant f j <*fi. «md
happy in itself. Another, forced through rocks, and choked wit'i baud,
under ground, cold, dark, comes up able to heal the world."

FROM " SEED G t.AiN."

" SHALL we plan a wedding journey, Faith ? "

It was one evening in April that Mr Armstrong said
this. The day for the marriage had been fixed for the first
week in May.

Faith had something of the bird-nature about her. Al
ways, at this moment of the year, a restlessness, akin to
that which prompts the flitting of winged things that trick
the sunshine and the creeping greenness that goes up the
latitudes, had used to seize her, inwardly. Something ,tmt
came with the swelling of tender buds, and the springing
of bright blades, and the first music born from winter silence,
had prompted her with the whisper, — "Abroad I
Out into the beautiful earth ! "

It had been one of her unsatisfied longings. Sht

344 FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD.

thought, what a joy it would be if she could have said,
frankly, "Father, mother! let us have a pleasant journey
in the lovely weather ! "

And now, that one stood at her side, who would have
taken her in his tender guardianship whithersoever she
might choose, — now that there was no need for hesitancy
in her wish, — this child, who had never been beyond the
Hudson, who had thought longingly of Catskill, and Trenton,
and Niagara, and had seen them only in her dreams, — felt,
inexplicably, a contrary impulse, that said within her, " Not
yet ! " Somehow, she did not care, at this great and beau
tiful hour of her life, to wander away into strange places.
Its holy happiness belonged to home.

" Not now. Unless you wish it. Not on purpose. Take
me with you, sometime, when, perhaps, you would have
gone alone. Let it happen"

" We will just begin our quiet life, then, darling, shall
we ? The life that is to be our real blessedness, and that
has no need to give itself a holiday, as yet. And let the
work-days and the holidays be portioned as God pleases ? "

" It will be better, — happier," Faith answered, timidly.
" Besides, with all this fearful tramping to war through the
whole land, how can one feel like pleasure-journeying ? And

then " there was another little reason that peeped out

last, — "they would have been so sure to make a fuss about
us in New York ! "

The adjuncts of life had been much to her in those rest-
leps days when a dark doubt lay over its deep reality. She
had found a passing cheer and relief in them, then. Now,
she was so sure, so quietly content 1 It was a joy too sacred
to be intermeddled with.

FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD. MS

So a family group, only, gathered in the hill-side parlor,
on the fair May morning wherein good, venerable Mr. Hol
land said the words that made Faith Gartney and Roger
Armstrong one.

It was all still, and bright, and simple. Glory, standing
modestly by the door, said within herself, " it was like a
little piece of heaven."

And afterward, — not the bride and groom, — but father,
mother, and little brother, said good-bye, and went away
upon their journey, and left them there. In the quaint,
pleasant home, that was theirs now, under the budding
elms, with the smile of the May promise pouring in.

And Glory- made a May-day at the Old House, by-and-by.
And the little children climbed in the apple-branches, and
perched there, singing, like the birds.

And was there not a white-robed presence with them,
somehow, watching all ?

Nearly three months had gone. The hay was down. .The
distillation of sweet clover was in all the air. The little
ones at the Old House were out, in the lengthening shadows
?f the July afternoon, rolling and revelling in the perfumed,
elastic heaps.

Faith Armstrong stood with Glory, in the porch-angle,
looking on.

Calm and beautiful. Only the joy of birds and children
making sound and stir across the summer stilluess.

Away over the broad face of the earth, out from such
peace as this, might there, if one could look, — unroll some
vision of horrible contrast ? Were blood, and wrath, and
groans, and thunderous roar of guns down there under that
tar, fair horizon, stooping in golden beauty to the cool, green
bills?

346 FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD.

Faith walked down the field-path, presently, to meet hei
husband, coming up. He held in his hand an open paper,
that he had brought, just now, from the village.

There was news.

Rout, horror, confusion, death, dismay.

The field of Manassas had been fought. The Union
armies were falling back, in disorder, upon Washington.

Breathlessly, with pale faces, and with hands that grasped
each other in a deep excitement that could not come to
speech, they read those columns, together.

Down there, on those Virginian plains, was this.

And they were here, in quiet safety, among the clover
blooms, and the new-cut hay. Elsewhere, men were mown.

" Koger ! " said Faith, when, by-and-by, they had grown
calmer over the fearful tidings, and had had Bible words
of peace and cheer for the fevered and bloody rumors of
men, — " might n't we take our wedding journey, now ? "

All the bright, early summer, in those first months of
their life together, they had been finding work to do. Work
they had hardly dreamed of when Faith had feared she
might be left to a mere, unworthy, selfish rest and happi
ness.

The old New England spirit had roused itself, mightily,
in the little country town. People had forgotten their own
needs, and the provision they were wont to make, at this
time, each household for itself. Money and material, and
quick, willing hands were found, and a good work went on ;
and kindling zeal, and noble sympathies, and hearty prayers
, wove themselves in, with toil of thread and needle, to homely
fabrics, and embalmed, with every finger-touch, all whereon
they labored.

They had remembered the old struggle wherein theu

FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD. 347

country had been born. They were glad and proud to bear
their burden in this grander one wherein she was to be born
anew, to higher life.

Roger Armstrong and his wife had been the spring and
soul and centre of all.

And now, Faith said, — " Roger 1 may n't we take our
wedding journey ? "

Not for a bridal holiday, — not for gay change and pleas
ure, — but for a holy purpose, went they out from home.

Down among the wounded, and war-smitten. Bearing
comfort of gifts, and helpful words, and prayers. Doing
whatsoever they found to do, now ; seeking and learning
what they might best do, hereafter. Truly, God left them
not without a work. A noble ministry lay ready for them,
at this very threshold of their wedded life.

In the hospital at Georgetown, they found Nurse Samp
son.

"I told you so," she said. "I knew it was coming.
And the first gun brought me down here to be ready. I 've
been out to Western Virginia ; and I came back here when
we got the news of this. I shall follow round, wherever
the clouds roll."

In Washington, still another meeting awaited them.

Paul Rushleigh, in a Captain's uniform, came, one day,
to the table of their hotel.

The first gun had brought him, also, where he could be
ready. He had sailed for home, with his father, upon the
reception, abroad, of the tidings of the fall of Sumter.

" Your country will want you, now, my son," had been
the words of the brave and loyal gentleman. And, like
another Abraham, he had set his face toward the mount
of sacrifice.

848 FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD.

There was a new light in the young man's eye. A soul
awakened there. A purpose, better than any plan or hope
of a mere happy living in the earth.

He met his old friends frankly, generously ; and, seem
ingly, without a pang. They were all one now, in the sub
lime labor that, in their several spheres, lay out before
them.

" You were right, Faith," he said, as i.e stood with them,
and spoke briefly of the past, before they parted. " I shall
be more of a man, than if I 'd had my first wish. This war
is going to make a nation of men. I 'm free, now, to give
my heart and hand to my country, as long as she needs me.
And by-and-by, perhaps, if I live, some woman may love
me with the sort of love you have for your husband. J feel
now, how surely I should have come to be dissatisfied with
less. God bless you both ! "

" God bless you, Paul 1 "

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